Tarrin stumbled slightly under the weight of the deer
as he tried to step over a fallen log, working to prevent the end of his bow
from snagging on the underbrush. The morning sun was piercing the thick canopy
of the ancient woods at a low angle, splashing golden yellow light over tree
trunks and occasionally hitting the back of a leaf, lighting it up from behind
and giving it a golden glow. The air was warm and dry, and the forest was
filled with the sounds of life; chirping birds, the cry of a squirrel, the
rustle of the brush as a rabbit or chipmunk scurried about. The sounds were
slightly alarmed, for Tarrin couldn't carry the deer carcass and manage any
decent stealth, but he wasn't so noisy that they went totally silent.

He would make it back in plenty of time. The deer was
already slated to be roasted at Summer's Dawn, a festival that the village held
every year at the beginning of summer. It was a day for everyone in the
village and on the surrounding farms to take a break from the grueling work, to
bring something that represented the bounty of the land to a grand feast that
would take place on the village green. Most people brought something from the
wild, representing the richness of the forest, and it another way, giving
thanks for it. When the crops failed, a family could survive with a bow or
sling. Right at that moment, wives were skinning something freshly snared or
shot, accepting bowls of mulchberries from the children who had picked them, or
waiting for the husband to get back with his catch. Most men went after deer,
but more often than not they had to settle for rabbit, or maybe even boar.

Tarrin downed a big one. It was so heavy that he
almost couldn't carry it. Tarrin was a very good hunter. His father had been
a Ranger, one of the specially trained soldiers that learned to fight and
survive in the forest, and that training made him the best hunter in Aldreth.
Or it would have, if he could hunt. Tarrin had learned from the best hunter in
the region, and he was very accomplished himself. There were things that his
father, Eron, saw that he barely noticed, and to him, the slightest turned leaf
was like an open book. Eron couldn't hunt, but he could still track, and he
was not only known as the best tracker in the region, but renowned all the way
to Torrian. He had been a mighty soldier in his day, and had risen high in the
ranks before accepting his pension and retiring to the farm on Aldreth. He'd
matured into a quiet, reserved man with graying hair, gray beard, and a twinkle
in his blue eyes.

Tarrin's mother had everything to do with that. To the
villagers, Elke Kael was...unusual. She wasn't Sulasian, she was an Ungardt,
one of the hardy folk that lived to the far north in the frozen lands. She was
tall, taller than every man in the village, and had the pattern Ungardt
features. Blond hair, wide hips, buxom chest, pretty face. But Elke Kael was
steel under her pale skin. She had a figure that made the village women
grumble in envy, but there was nothing but corded muscle inside the loose
shirts and breeches she commonly wore. She was a warrior, the daughter of a
clan king, and she had every bit of the pride and haughtiness.

The villagers didn't quite know what to make of Elke
Kael. She was the wife of Eron Kael, one of the most respected men in the
area, but she was nothing like him. She was a hot-tempered, blunt, erratic
woman that could use a sword or axe better than any man in the village, even
her own husband, and the fact that she was a better fighter than the men left
them a bit envious and scornful of her, and left the women confused and not a
little bit afraid of her. She had a tongue sharper than a razor, and was
infamous for her temper-induced explosions. She was nothing like anything the
village had ever seen before, with a personality and attitude that was as
misplaced in the Aldreth crowd as her appearance was. The years she'd been in
the village had done little to change this view of her. She was known as
"the blond witch" when her ears were beyond the words. But Tarrin
found her reputation to be a bit misplaced, because at home, Elke was a gentle,
compassionate woman. She was quick to criticize, but she was just as quick to
complement. Forty years of life had done nothing to her body; she looked like
Tarrin's sister instead of his mother. Her blond hair was untouched by gray,
and her body was just as hard and taut as it had been when she arrived. The
only mar on her were the very faint and small wrinkles that had begun to creep
up around her eyes.

But what was unusual to the villagers was what Tarrin
accepted as normal. Tarrin had grown up watching his mother and father, and
he'd learned that they weren't the usual parents from talking to the village
children. When most mothers were baking bread, his mother was practicing with
her axe. When most fathers were working in the fields, his father was teaching
him how to shoot the bow, and how to hunt, and what to look for when he was
tracking a deer. For a seventeen year old, Tarrin was a nasty fighter. He'd
grown up with a sword in one hand and a bow in the other. His father was a
grizzled pensioner of one of the most elite divisions of the Sulasian army, and
his mother was the daughter of a clan king, and as such was trained in the
formidable style that made the Ungardt some of the best fighters in the world.
Tarrin had spent more time in his life outside than inside, and more time
holding a weapon than a farming tool. He'd been trained by his parents in most
common weapons, and Elke had taught him the devastating hand-fighting styles
that made the Ungardt so dangerous.

He stopped for a moment, wiping sweat off his brow that
had slid down out of his blond hair. Tarrin favored his mother in looks. He
had the Ungardt height and broad shoulders, and had also inherited blond hair
and blue eyes from his mother. His ears were flat against his head and narrow,
like his father's, who jokingly commented that they were the proof he was blood
related to his son. Tarrin's face was the male version of his mother, with the
same high cheekbones and strong jaw, the same straight nose and the same
penetrating stare. He was handsome in the male way where his mother was
handsome in the female way. He was taller than his mother by at least half a
hand, the tallest man in the village, and at only seventeen it was guaranteed
he would grow a few more fingers before he was finished. He was even stronger
than he looked, thanks to the weapons training through most of his life, and
had the iron constitution of a man that swung heavy weapons half the day and
pushed a plow the rest of it.

He started moving again, finding the game trail that
would quickly get him home. They built their farm on what the villagers called
the Frontier, the wild expanses west of the village that led into the thousand
mile expanse of unexplored forest of the same name. There was nothing between
Tarrin and the Sandshield Mountains, a thousand longspans west, but trees and
forest creatures, and the occasional river or hill. No human life existed out
there, because the Frontier was the stronghold and bastion of the Forest Folk,
intelligent beings of various types that preferred to live far away from the
humans. There were none this close to the village, but it was the reason that
nobody ventured west of the village. Eron fell in love with it as soon as he
arrived, Tarrin had been told, and had promptly found a meadow so that he
wouldn't have to cut down trees and built the farm that they lived on today.
Eron still had the Ranger blood in him, and liked to live in the forest, away
from the village and its noise and distractions. The Kael farm was the only
human settlement west of Two Step creek, about a longspan towards the village
from the farm. The farm itself was about three longspans out from the village,
just far enough to make visiting an endeavor but not so far out that it took
half the day to get there.

Unusual people, living in an unusual place, so the
villagers whispered.

Tarrin didn't really miss it. He liked the wild
forest, the same as his father, and he learned early in life that his feared
mother made the women shoo their children away from him when he was in the
village. Especially the mothers of the girls. But Tarrin was strikingly
handsome now that he was grown, and the mothers had a hard time convincing
their daughters that the blond child of the wild Elke Kael wasn't worth their
time. He'd grown up out among the ancient oaks and maples, birch and blueleaf
trees, and when his sister Jenna was old enough, he started taking her. But she
didn't like it too well; while Tarrin was his mother's son, Ungardt to the
core, Jenna had inherited the gentle, mild ways of her father's Sulasian
heritage. She was every bit the lady, even at thirteen. Granted, she was a
lady that could put an arrow through a squirrel's eye at two hundred paces, but
she was still feminine. Jenna had done some of the Ungardt training, enough to
be able to defend herself from an attacker, but she hadn't studied the fighting
arts the same way Tarrin had. She was wicked with a short-staff, and was
probably the best shot from Aldreth to Torrian with a bow.

Tarrin had lived here all his life, but it wasn't his
dream to stay here. His parents knew this, and accepted it. Tarrin wanted to
be like his father, to go out and see the world, experience what was out
there. He wanted to visit the capital of Sulasia, Suld, one of the grandest
cities in the Twelve Kingdoms of the west. He wanted to sail on an Ungradt
longship like his mother had, he wanted to visit the island city of Dayisč, the grand capital of Shacč. He wanted to see the Fountain of Swans in Toran, he
wanted to see the Dragon statue in Draconia. There was a whole lot of life out
there beyond the boundaries of the village, and it was waiting for him.

Today's festival was a part of that dream. Two days
ago, two strangers had entered the village. One of them, a petite, dark-haired
woman, was a katzh-dashi, one of the Sorcerers of Suld. A wielder of
magic, and a person that the entire village avoided. Magic was an accepted
part of life, especially in Sulasia, but a practitioner of it was a strange
being with awesome power, and that made the common village folk a bit nervous.
Tarrin had seen katzh-dashi before. Every five years, they scoured the
entire kingdom of Sulasia, looking for people who had the spark, the natural
talent, to use the power of Sorcery. When they found them, they were taken
back to the Tower of Six Spires in Suld and trained in the ability, so they
could control it. If they wanted to, they could remain for extensive training
to become katzh-dashi themselves. But if they didn't, they were taught
enough to be no danger to others, and then released to do as they would.

It was the man that had arrived with her that
interested Tarrin. He was a man of average height, wearing ornate plate armor
and a small helmet that was fringed by his curly black hair, and he moved like
a wolf. That was a Knight, one of the special warriors that were trained
specifically to act as the physical complement to a Sorcerer's magical power.
The Knights were attached to the Church of Karas, the patron god of all
Sulasia, and served the Church when not needed by the katzh-dashi. The
training school for the Knights was on the Tower grounds itself, and it
produced some of the best warriors in the world. A Knight gave an Ungardt
nightmares; they could even hold their own against the legendary Selani, the
Desert Folk, a race of non-humans that dwelled in the Desert of Swirling Sands, far east of Aldreth. A Selani warrior was rumored to be able to take ten armed
men with nothing but his hands and feet. A single Knight was usually enough of
a deterrent to stop a good sized raider band.

While the Sorceress looked for youngers with the spark
of Sorcery, the Knight would be scouting for potential applicants to the Knights Academy. Most Knights were nobles, or the sons of men who could afford to bribe
their children in. But the Knights always looked for people with natural
talent. If Tarrin could talk to him, or impress him, he may be allowed to go
with them to Suld and petition for formal admittance. His father had taken
that step, and had applied, and took their test. But he failed it. Eron was
good, but he didn't have the special spark that was needed for a Knight. He
went on to have an illustrious career in the army. Tarrin was fully aware that
he barely had half a chance to get in. But he'd been taught to go after his
dreams. Especially when they weren't impossible ones.

Tarrin stopped for a moment, looking down. There was a
track in the soft loam of moss under a tree. It was large, obviously made by
someone wearing a boot. But it was huge; the man who made it had to be at
least a head taller than him, and weigh almost twice as much. He saw several
more, tracking back towards the open forest. He grunted a bit as the heavy
deer shifted on his back, so he decided to ask about it when he got back. The
deer was too heavy to go investigating, and he wasn't about to set it down and
leave it.

A bit later, Tarrin emerged from the treeline not too
far from the house. It was a large affair, made of carefully shaped logs and
chinked together, with a stone gray slate roof. The house was huge for only
four people, with an excavated basement and an attic, and it had six rooms on
the first floor. Tarrin occupied the loft-like second floor, which served as
his room. His parents occupied the largest room, in the back, and Jenna's room
wasn't small either. The other three rooms served as the living room, kitchen,
and a storage room. The cellar had a deeper room that held a magical
object--it was a piece of metal that radiated intense cold all the time, one of
the rare prizes brought back from Eron's many travels. It served to keep their
food frozen and preserved, allowing them to stockpile large amounts of food
against the often brutal Sulasian winters that howled down out of the Skydancer
Mountains, only three days' travel to the north. They often sold the surplus
food in the winter to the needy, but were known to share with those who lacked
the ability to pay. Paying the worth of something was the honest thing to
do--Aldreth villagers were almost legendary for their practical good sense and
honesty--but charity was only right and proper.

There were three other buildings in the huge meadow
that served as the Kael farm. The barn was on the far side of the house, not
large as barns went, but more than large enough to store most of their farming
utensils and hay. They had a shearing shed for the twenty sheep that were kept
in a pen beside the barn, the source of the wool that Elke would spin into
cloth and sew into clothing. His mother may be a warrior, but she was just as
good at all the things that wives were supposed to do, and many that most wives
were not supposed to know. She could tan leather, weave cloth and fend it,
even dye it. And she was an outstanding seamstress and an even better cook.
Elke made functional, rugged clothing that would last for years. And with the
right kind of leather, she could make leather shoes and boots. Tarrin never
ceased to be amazed at the scope and breadth of his mother's ability. He
wondered how she found time to learn it all. The third building was the
stillery, which sat just downstream of the small brook that passed right by the
house. That was his father's passion and favorite hobby. He would spend all
day out in that building, brewing homemade beer and brandy, and occasionally
apple wine. He was quite expert at it, and his home brewed ale was always in
demand down at the Road's End Inn, the village's only inn. Sometimes merchants
bought it from him to sell in Torrian.

Much of their farming went for this hobby. They grew
hops and barley in addition to wheat, corn, turnips, tomatos, melons, and their
groves of apple and pear trees. The sheep were part of the small motley crew
of animals living in the farmyard. The sheep shared space with the chickens
and geese, and the three pigs in the wallow on the opposite side of the barn.
They had three cows, one for milk, that were pastured on the far side of the
barn, inside a small fenced area, and they had two horses that split time
between being mounts and pulling a plow. Theirs was a prosperous little
farmstead, full of plenty and bright in its love of family. He was truly happy
here, but the call of the road was something that he couldn't deny. He'd come
back here when he was content to settle, find a wife, and live here with his
aging parents. By then, Jenna would be married, and she'd have convinced her
husband to live here rather than with his own family. It was an unusual
circumstance, but he knew his sister. She wouldn't live anywhere else; she
shared Tarrin's passion for this little farm, and she would not let herself
live anywhere else. She'd make her husband live here.

Jenna came around the side of the house, her dark hair
obviously wet. Her simple brown dress was damp around the collar, and she had
it partially unbuttoned at the neck. Jenna was just starting to develop into
the attributes of a woman. Twice already their mother had had to let out the
bust of her dresses, and she'd thickened around the hips substantially in the
last two months alone. Though she had their father's dark hair and features,
she was going to have a body like her mother. Tall, buxom, and hippy. Not
quite as tall as her mother, but she would be at least a hand taller than any
other woman in the village. She would be taller than her father, that much was
for certain. Eron Kael was half a head shorter than his wife, and it wasn't because
he was short. Eron was one of the taller men in the village. She looked up at
him intently.

"It's about time!" she said. "Mother
sent me out to get you. We're waiting for you."

"Well, I'm here," he told his younger sister
with a grin.

"You got a big one," she said gruffly. The
relationship between them was complex. It was cordial, and they truly loved
each other, but as siblings do, they tended to fight from time to time. They'd
had a rather rousing squabble about whose turn it was to feed the animals
earlier. In her present mood, that was the closest thing to a complement he
would get.

"Let's get it on the cart and get going," he
said without preamble.

"Mother! He's back!" Jenna shouted as she
turned around. The cart was out front, with the roan Treader hooked up to it.
It was laden with his sword and staff, some of the clothes his mother would
sell today, a few kegs and casks of his father's ale and wines, and one of the
many bushel of arrows that his father had made during the winter. Eron Kael
was even better at fletching than he was at brewing. Twenty years as a Ranger
had taught him the art of arrow making unlike anything a standard fletcher
could match. Tarrin had watched and learned, and he could make good arrows
himself, but they were nothing like his father's. It was the major source of
income in the house. The farming, the brewing, these were just supplements or
hobbies. Eron Kael's arrows were the major part of the family's income. Men
came from as far as Ultern to buy them. He also made bows, but not as often.
He stated more than once that he didn't have the patience to make bows much
anymore, but one of his bows could be sold for a hundred gold lions to a true
archery adherant. It took him a month to make a bow, where he could craft ten
arrows a day. Occasionally he got the itch to craft a truly exceptional bow.
He would spend up to four months on it, but it was well worth the effort,
because those special bows were always incredibly accurate, and most of them
had tremendous power. Those he could sell for hundreds of lions.

Tarrin dumped the deer carcass on the cart as his
father limped down the porch steps, wearing a simple unbleached wool shirt and
leather breeches. He'd injured his leg some twenty years ago, but still
managed to carry out his duties as a Ranger by doing it from horseback. He
managed it for five years before they pensioned him. Tarrin was born after it
happened, so he'd never known his father any other way, but the limp didn't
slow him down. He could still fight, was still one of the best shots in the
region with a bow, and did more than his share around the farm. The only thing
he really couldn't do was run fast. Tarrin mused that he didn't look like he
was on the verge of his fiftieth year. He had the graying hair, but he was
just as spry and alert as ever, and his hands still had the supple magic in
them to craft such excellent bows and arrows. His mother came out behind him,
dressed in a ragged blue wool shirt with a hole in one sleeve and leather
leggings (which was ever a source of shock and gossip among the women, no
matter that they saw her wearing pants for the last twenty years). It wasn't
like her to have holes in her clothing. It must have just happened. Then
again, by the dark look on her face, she wasn't too happy about something. It
could very well be that. The fact that she was carrying her axe was more than
enough reason not to ask about it. In fact, it was a good reason not to say anything.

"Nice buck," his father complemented as
Tarrin climbed into the back of the cart with Jenna, and he climbed into the
driving seat.

"He almost got away," Tarrin admitted.

"Let's get going," Elke Kael said grumpily as
she got up into the cart beside her husband and stowed her axe under the seat.

Tarrin knew better than to ask, so he filled the quiet
silence with mental images of greeting the Knight, what he would say, how he
would convince him that he was worthy of a test in Suld. He also went over the
forms and moves of the sword in his head, just the way his father and mother
had both taught him. Tarrin much preferred the staff in a fight. It was a
long weapon with good reach and good speed, you could use it for multiple
tricks and feints, and it only killed when you consciously decided to do so.
But Knights didn't use staves too often. The sword or the axe was the common
weapon of the Knights, so he had to know how to use them to earn a spot in the
Academy. And he did, probably better than anyone in the village except his mother.
His father had already admitted that his son was a better swordsman than him.

The hour long cart ride was passed in almost total
silence. The silence wasn't unusual for the family, for none of them were
particularly gabby to begin with, and time spent in silence was common for
them. Tarrin was too busy with his mental preparations at meeting the Knight
to even notice any conversation around him. The excitement he'd suppressed to
hunt effectively had welled up in him since the finality of the trip to the
festivities had taken hold of him. He wondered how often the Knight had to
endure boys like him coming up and professing a heart-felt desire to be in the
Academy and become a Knight. It was a common boyhood dream across all of
Sulasia. Tarrin secretly hoped that he could convince him that he was more
than the other boys. He was older, that was true, almost too old to start the
training, but he already knew so much. He doubted that, if they knew he'd
already had instruction, they would hold his age against him. He had all the
physical qualities of a Knight. Strength, size, speed, and endurance. But,
unknown to him, he had many of the mental qualities of a Knight as well. He
was clever, intelligent, insightful, honest, forthright, and modest.

They came around the familiar bend in the road about an
hour later, and the small village of Aldreth slid into view. It was a modest
community, the village proper holding about thirty homes and shops, arranged in
a loose circular formation around the Village Green, a huge grassy meadow that
acted as the hub of a wheel, and was the vital communal area of the villagers
and the farmers that surrounded it. Every festival or meeting was held on the
Green, since the inn was too small to hold everyone. Festivals were held on
the Green, and children made it their playground when it wasn't being
officially used. The village was bordered on the far side, the east side, by a
wide stream, called Cold Water Creek, and right at the foot of the sturdy
bridge over it stood Road's End Inn. Aptly named, for it was the end of the
road that led to Torrian. The Green was a bustle of activity as tents and
tables were being erected or adjusted, and the smoke of many fires filled the
air, as did the smell of roasting meet or simmering stews or open-baked bread.
Many merchants from Watch Hill and Torrian, the two towns along the South Road, had arriaved and set up stalls to hawk their wares during the summer festival,
and even from their distance, Tarrin could hear them shouting.

They parked the wagon at the edge of the Green, and
while his father unhitched and pastured the horse in the inn's stables, Tarrin,
Jenna, and their mother picked up the food and things they would need and
carried them onto the meadow. Elke spoke to her children tersely, in a voice
that warned them both not to do anything that would attract her
attention. They found a likely spot near the place where the archery games
would take place, then Tarrin was sent back for the table boards as the
family's women began setting up. Tarrin met up with his father as he reached
the wagon.

"What's wrong with mother?" he asked quickly
as he pulled out one of the long, broad planks that would be used as their
table.

"She's a bit nervous," he replied.

"Nervous?" Tarrin scoffed. "Why would
she be nervous?"

"Because of you," he replied.

"Me?"

"Tarrin, she knows you're going to talk to the
Knight," he replied. "Sure, she wants to you be on your own and find
something in the world, but no mother likes the idea of letting go of a
child." Tarrin hadn't considered that. "And, your mother being your
mother, she's taking it out on everyone around her," he added with a grin.

"Let me guess," he said, "you didn't
sleep well last night."

"I don't think I slept at all," he replied
honestly. "I don't think she did either."

"I never thought she'd be like that," he
said. "She's all but tried to throw me out of the house."

"That was her trying to motivate you," he
confided. "Now that the end is in sight, she's reversing tactics. After
she gets over her tiff, and she sees that knight, expect her become all
light and sunshine," he predicted with a wink. "She'll try to
honey-talk you into giving up on the idea."

If anything, Tarrin knew that his father knew his
mother. He could predict almost the exact words she would use when she talked
sometimes. That familiarity was an extension of the deep love he had for his
Ungardt princess, a love that had caused both of them to learn and know
absolutely everything about the other. His mother could perform the same
predictions on his father, but Eron was much better at it than Elke.

"I didn't mean to upset her."

"Tarrin, nothing you could do could change
that," he said. "It has to do with you striking out on your own, and
that's just a natural thing. It comes eventually."

"How do you feel about it?" he asked.

"I feel alot like your mother," he said.
"I don't like the idea of you leaving, but I understand that you were
never meant to spend your life on a secluded farm. Parents just don't like to
let go of their children, Tarrin. When you have your own children, you'll
understand."

Tarrin considered that as he and his father carried the
long table planks out to their site. He helped erect the table as Elke and
Jenna started a fire, and Tarrin winced a bit as Elke rather brutallyy and
efficiently cleaned, skinned, and dressed the deer for roasting. She was
taking her aggression out on the poor thing. Tarrin was glad it was already
dead. "Tarrin, go fetch that barrel of arrows," Eron commanded.

"Yes, father," he replied, and scurried off
to the wagon.

At the wagon, he hefted up the heavy barrel, filled to
the brim with the wooden shafts of arrows in a carefully arranged
double-stacked system of packing them that allowed maximum space with minimal
risk of damage to the arrows or fletching. As he hefted the barrel onto his
shoulder, he saw the knight and the Sorceress stepping out of the inn.

The woman was a slim woman, very diminutive and
delicate looking, with thick dark hair that fell down her back in tumbled
waves. Her face was delicate and fragile-looking, with graceful features that
made her quite lovely. Her brown eyes were rather large and penetrating, and
Tarrin could feel her gaze sweep over him like a hundred phantom hands. She
wore the plainest of dresses, a simple blue dress with no frill or ornament,
but the dress was made of silk, and it shimmered and whispered in the morning
light as she moved. She was a very regal-seeming woman, and moved with a
commanding aire that all but announced to everyone that he was high born.

The knight was just slightly above average height,
about half a head shorter than Tarrin, wearing rather ornate plate armor that
showed the nicks and scars of use in battle. He was solidly built, with an
impressive barrel chest and thick arms, and his curly black hair curled around
the edges of his conical steel helmet. It was an open faced helmet, and that
face seemed out of place on a man of war. His face was cheeky and broad, with
a slightly wide nose and narrow eyes that made him look impish and jovial.
Despite that disarming face, he wore a heavy broadsword at his belt, and it
hung there as if it was a part of him. He was well trained in fighting, his
stance and very demeanor screamed of it.

Tarrin wanted to talk to him right then, but he had the
barrel of arrows. With a sigh, he turned his back to them and trotted back
towards the picnic area his family had claimed.

After setting everything up, Jenna went to talk to her
friends, and Eron drifted off to talk to Glendon Nye, one of the Village
Speakers. Tarrin watching his mother for a few moments, moving in an
aggressive manner, slamming pots down, yanking things about, and muttering
under her breath. He put his hand on her shoulder gently, and she whirled
about on him. "What?" she demanded.

"You're being silly," he said with a smile.
"Even if I do go away, I'm still your son, and I still love you."

She looked at him for a moment, then laughed in spite
of herself. "I don't want you to go," she admitted, putting her arms
around him and giving him a gentle hug. "I know you need to, but I don't
want to lose my baby."

"I'm not a baby anymore, mother."

"To a mother, her children are always her
babies," she replied.

"You won't be losing me," he said.
"I'll just be somewhere else."

"It's more than that, Tarrin," she said,
letting go. He handed her the carving knife she was reaching for absently.
"I guess parents don't like seeing their kids grow up. It makes us feel
old."

"Old? You?" he scoffed.

"I feel it from time to time," she admitted.
"It just doesn't show on me as much as it does your father." She
gave him a sidelong glance. "This place isn't for you, son," she
said. "Considering the way the rest of the village considers me a witch,
you'd do better finding a wife elsewhere. Even the girls who gawk at you
cringe when they see me. They would not be good daughters-in-law."

"Mother, you'll outlive the mountains
themselves," he said with a chuckle.

She smiled at him, but said nothing.

While the women were preparing the food, the men
readied for the competitions. Tarrin picked up his staff and bow and rushed
into the fray. First was the archery competition. It was simple enough
contest, where stands of ten archers fired at hay-stuffed targets with cloth
targets pinned to them. They were painted with red circles, and the two
archers to have the best score went on to the next round. There were three
circles on the target. An arrow inside the outermost ring was worth one point,
inside the middle ring was worth two points, and inside the third was three
points. A red circle was in the center, the bull's-eye, and that was worth
four points. Each archer had ten arrows, and the targets were started at one
hundred paces. With every round, they were moved back twenty five paces.
Tarrin's family more or less dominated this event. Tarrin and Eron Kael were
outstanding shots, but this year Jenna was old enough to compete. They'd never
seen Jenna shoot before, but both her brother and father knew how deadly she
was with a bow.

Jenna wasn't the only woman in the contest. Many of
the village women knew how to use a bow, and some of the better shots, mostly
young women, had decided to compete. There were nearly fifty people competing,
almost half the village's population.

Tarrin, Jenna, and Eron all were drawn into the first
round. As Tarrin and Jenna checked their bowstrings, they heard Eron scoffing
at Lamon Dannis, the village cooper. "That young girl of yours don't have
enough arm to send an arrow a hunnerd' paces," he drawled.

"I'll wager you twenty silver talents that she can
put eight arrows into the bull's-eye," Eron said immediately.

There was raucous laughter from several of the men
around Lamon as the Kaels marched onto the line. They all counted out ten
arrows, then put the rest on the ground well behind them, like the other seven
men and women on the line. There was no organized firing. Each archer fired
at his or her own pace, but they all had to wait for the go signal from Garyth Longshank,
the village mayor. Garyth was a tall man, thin and whip-like with a friendly
face and warm expression. He was the village cobbler, and just about everyone
except the Kaels wore his leather shoes and boots. He was also a sharp trader,
who made quite a bit of money duping the travelling merchants who thought the
small village had no trading man among them. Garyth, wearing a simple white
wool shirt with his leather apron and wool breeches, stood to the near side of
the firing range, holding a large piece of white cloth in his hand. "Are
the archers ready?" he called.

There was no reply. That meant that everyone was
ready.

"Alright then, commence shooting!" he
shouted.

Tarrin exhaled, centering himself. He drew back his
powerful longbow in a smooth motion; the bow was one of Eron's best, and it was
so powerful that only Tarrin, Eron, Elke, and the village smith could even draw
it. He brought the bowstring to his cheek, carefully lining the arrow up with
the target, after testing the air with his senses to discern wind speed and
direction. He held the bow rock-solid, tuning out the sound of loosed arrows
and chatter around him, becoming one with his bow, one with the target, just as
he was taught. Then he loosed in a smooth, fluent motion.

He knew it was a bull's-eye the instant it left the
bow. He didn't bother to watch it, reaching in for another arrow, pulling it
out just as his arrow thudded home in the exact center of the target. His was
not the only one; many men and women in Aldreth were not shabby with the bow
themselves, since just about everyone in the whole village had at least one.
The villagers of Aldreth as a whole were exceptionally proficient with the
bow. Of the ten archers at the line, only two failed to hit the bull's-eye on
the first shot. And theirs were not far off.

Tarrin blanked out his mind again, drew, carefully
aimed, and then fired. Then again. And again. His arrows were tightly
grouped right around the bull's-eye as he fired his arrows. Tarrin lost track
of where he was, he was so caught up in the machination of nocking, drawing,
aiming, and firing the bow. He reached for another arrow, and found the quiver
empty. He'd fired all his arrows. He looked down the range, seeing his ten
arrows almost perfectly arranged inside the red of the bull's-eye. That was
good, even for him. He usually had one or two outside the bull's-eye. He
looked to his left, to his sister's target. It looked exactly like his. A
look to the right showed his father's target exactly the same. His father
looked at him and grinned boyishly.

"They'll have to advance all three of us," he
said with a smirk. "We tied. And I just won twenty talents."

Jenna laughed delightedly and lowered her bow.
"Let's see the others beat those," she said with family pride.

As surely as the sun rose in the east, Eron was right.
Garyth consulted with the official tallyman, then made an announcement.
"There is a tie," he called. "Three people put all ten arrows
in the bull's-eye. The rule is, all people who tie are given advancement
except in the final round, so Eron Kael, Tarin Kael, and Jenna Kael
advance."

Smiling, the three made their way back to their table,
where Elke handed each of them an earthenware mug of chilled apple-flavored ale
from Eron's keg. "Did you see that?" Jenna laughed to her mother.

"You shot very well," Elke smiled to her
daughter.

"And Lamon Dannis thought I couldn't get an arrow
to the target. Ha!"

Tarrin noticed that all the boys were looking strangely
at Jenna. Surprisingly, her shooting ability had attracted their eyes. He
couldn't see why not, her dark hair and pretty face would attract any boy's
attention. Then again, she was the daughter of Elke Kael. But Jenna didn't
have the same problems as Tarrin, since she looked Sulasian to her
fingernails. She had lots of friends in the village, and the mothers of the
children weren't quite as worried over her. Although Tarrin was a nice,
considerate boy, he looked too much and acted too much like Elke Kael to suit them.

"Don't drink too much," Tarrin warned her.
"We have to shoot again."

"I won't," she promised.

Because ten people were supposed to go on to the next
round, the rules changed slightly for the last group. There were only six of
them, so the mayor decided that only one of them would advance, to balance out
the advancing group to ten to take the tie into account. After the last group
fired, the targets were moved back and the advancing ten were called back up to
the line. In this phase of the competition, the goal was to score at least a
predetermined amount. Everyone that did stayed in, while those who failed were
out. Every time a round was over, the target was moved back twenty five
paces. In case nobody scored the quota on a particular round, the person with
the highest score was declared the winner. What made it more difficult was
that each archer was only to fire three arrows.

"This is a group of good archers," the mayor
said in a booming voice, "so we'll make it tough right at the start. The
quota is nine points." Everyone was expected to pass the first round, but
a few of them grumbled at the high quota set. The reason they grumbled was
because the wind had picked up some. Distance firing in a shifting crosswind
was tricky. "Archers ready!" the mayor called, and ten bows raised.
"Loose!" he shouted.

Tarrin raised his bow slightly, calculating in his mind
the trajectory angle needed to give the arrow the right height to hit the
bull's-eye. Then he watched the wind carefully, adjusted his aim to let the
wind push his arrow into the target, and then loosed. He watched the arrow go
high and seemingly off center, then get pushed down and back on course by the
wind. It hit just at the edge of the bull's-eye, but it still counted as one.
He noted with concern that Jenna nailed the center with her first shot, but
Tarrin knew that Jenna had to eliminate everyone else fast. If the target went
back too far, her young thirteen-year-old arm wouldn't be able to send an arrow
to reach it. Tarrin figured she'd be in for only three rounds before distance
began working against her. But Tarrin had other things to do than worry about
his sister. He nocked another arrow, aimed, checked, adjusted, and then fired
again, hitting more solidly in the bull's-eye that time. Then he did it once
more. His last arrow missed the bull's-eye, but was solidly in the innermost
ring. That was eleven points, enough to advance. Tarrin saw that Jenna and
his father both had three bull's-eyes. Looking down the line, Tarrin saw that
everyone looked to be advancing.

Almost. After the tallyman checked the targets and the
archers walked to the target to pull their arrows, two people were eliminated,
the thatcher and the smith's apprentice. The targets were moved back, and
Tarrin glimpsed a slightly worried expression on his sister's face. He thought
that she had to know that she was going to run into this problem; Tarrin did
well his first time, but didn't win. Because the same thing happened to him.
The target was pushed back out of his range. He stepped over to her as she
checked the fletching on her arrows, and said "don't worry, the same thing
happened to me when I competed the first time. Just do the best you can."

"But I want to win," she huffed.

"So did I," he told her.

The wind died down some as the mayor raised the quota
to ten points. The whole line took several minutes to shoot three arrows, as
each archer carefully took aim, and there was no time limit. After that round,
three more were out. Five stood to watch the target go back. The quota went
up to eleven points, and Tarrin guessed that this would be the last round.

It took Tarrin almost a whole minute to aim and fire
the first arrow. He saw that it was either right on or close, but the target was
too far away and too peppered with holes to make a solid guess. He didn't
worry about it, just aiming his next arrow and shooting, then again. He was
one of the last archers to finish, so he only had to wait a few seconds until
the mayor called for bows down, and the mayor joined the tallyman to check the
scores. They checked the five targets, all of which looked close, then walked
back to his standing area. "Only one person advances, so we have a
winner!" he called. "The scores are: Kanly Mills, eight points.
Aaron Noth, nine points. Tarrin Kael, ten points. Jenna Kael, ten points.
Joran Wanderer, ten points. And the winner, Eron Kael, with twelve
points!"

Eron accepted a few handshakes, and then patted his
daughter on the shoulder. "You did very well, my girl," he said with
a smile. "You'll do even better next time."

"Second place your first time out is pretty
good," Tarrin added. "It's better than I did."

"I still wanted to win," she huffed.

"That's your mother talking," Eron laughed as
they went out to collect their arrows.

Tarrin ran to the table, set aside his bow, and picked
up his staff. Next was his favorite competition, the staves. Much to his
mother's dismay, Tarrin preferred the staff to any other weapon. His own staff
was rather special, much like his bow, but he'd made the staff himself. He'd
found an Ironwood sapling some three years ago. Ironwood was much as its name
described, a rare wood that was so strong that it was like steel. It took
Tarrin three days to cut the sapling down, and it ruined five saws. It took
him over three months to strip and shape the wood, and he couldn't even count
how many knives he ruined in that endeavor. It cost Tarrin every copper bit he
had, plus some of his parents' money which he still owed them, but it was worth
it. Ironwood was almost unbreakable, important qualities in a good staff. The
wood itself was just a tad heavier than oak, and it looked almost exactly like
oak, but it floated so powerfully that he could stand on the staff in a still
pond. That ironwood stump had regrown, and it was quickly going to return to
the size that it was when Tarrin cut it down. That was the way ironwood was.
Tarrin had wisely made his staff using his mother's height as his guide,
projecting the size he would be full grown by sizing the staff for someone
slightly taller than his mother, and besides, he could always cut the staff
down to size if it was too large, where he couldn't put wood back if he made it
too small. And the gamble had paid off. The staff was about half a head
taller than him, as a good staff should be sized for its user, and he hadn't
had to cut it down. It fit almost perfectly into his hand, but he remembered
how cumbersome it was when he first made it. It hadn't mattered much, for he'd
had enough wood for two, and had made another one for himself at that height.
Jenna owned that one now, it was almost perfect for her. A bit too tall maybe,
but she'd grow into it.

Rushing to the referee's table, he hurriedly put his
name into the draw for staff contestants, then he looked at the ring. The
staff competition was rather simple. Two contestents stood inside a circular
ring that was fifteen paces across. A contestant could win in three ways. He
could knock his opponent out of the ring, he could knock the opponent off his
feet, or he could knock the opponent's staff out of his hands. Dropping your
own staff or stepping out of the ring put yourself out. Contestants were
allowed to voluntarily go down to one knee, but not both. It was a full
contact competition, but hitting between the legs, in the back, or in the face
was automatic disqualification. Shots to any part of the head with hair, or
above the forehead for the balding contestants, were perfectly acceptable.
Hits with hands or feet were also acceptable, as were hits with any part of the
body against an opponent, except for those areas that were off limits. Jen
Bluebird had a habit of headbutting his opponents, and that disqualified him
last year.

Tarrin stood next to his father, who had his own staff,
watching the roughly thirty men willing to compete this year put in their
names. "Karn Rocksplitter's competing this year," Eron noticed.
Karn was from Daltochan, the mountain kingdom in the Cloud Dancer Mountains to the north, and like all Dals, he was wide and powerfully built. Being a
blacksmith made him even more powerful than his Dal heritage. Karn had been
the village champion for three straight years, but he'd broken his ribs a week
before the festival last year and couldn't compete, and Tarrin had won. Many
in the village were looking forward to seeing the young Tarrin Kael up against
a grizzled veteran like Karn Rocksplitter.

"Good," Tarrin said. "I didn't feel
right not getting my head thumped by him last year." Tarrin had been
knocked out by Karn two years earlier, but it had been a good contest. Karn
relied on his raw power, and his smithy's endurance allowed him to just wear
down opponents. Tarrin was ready for him this year. Karn wasn't offensively
gifted, but he could stand in the middle of the ring and defend to the Last
Day. Tarrin already had a plan, because he fully expected to cross staves with
him.

"First contestant," the mayor called,
reaching into a hat with names written on pieces of parchment, "Tarrin
Kael! Second contestant," he called, pulling out another strip. He
laughed. "Second contenstant, Eron Kael!"

There were some shouts and laughter at that, and father
and son gave each other a slight smile. Eron may have a lamed leg, but he was
still a formidable opponent with the staff. "Looks like you're not going
to repeat this year, son," Eron said mildly.

They took their places in the ring. If anyone could
defend against Tarrin, it was Eron, and Tarrin knew it. It had to do with the
daily sparring practices they had. Tarrin didn't fight the staff the same way
the villagers did. He'd been trained in the Ungardt way, and the Ungardt fought
the staff with a completely different style. The Ungardt had forms for holding
the staff in the center and also on one end. Tarrin knew Eron had more trouble
dealing with a end-hold style, so that was the way he set himself in the ring,
holding his staff almost like a spear. Eron grimaced a bit, and then gave his
son a wolfish grin.

"Eron, are you ready?" the mayor called.
Eron nodded. "Tarrin, are you ready?" Tarrin nodded.
"Alright, just remember that we're here for fun, not to knock out teeth.
Ready? Go!"

Tarrin evaded a fast thrust to the belly, spun around
and ducked to evade the swipe at his head, then whipped the staff across the
back of Eron's knees. He felt the staff connect solidly, but he'd missed the
knees and hit only one knee. He didn't have a low enough angle to get both.
Eron dipped as his lamed knee unlocked, but he didn't go down. There was some
laughter at the youngster's quick coup against his father, but they'd seen
Tarrin fight staves before. He was one of the ones favored to win. Tarrin
blocked a fast series of swipes from his father, using the end-hold grip like a
sword to parry blows, then stepped into a high swing, blocked with the far end,
and tried to smash the held end of the staff into Eron's belly. Eron blocked
it with the center of his staff, but Tarrin's power scooted Eron's feet across
the dirt ring, towards the rope that marked the ring boundary. Eron leaned
into his staff, stopping his skid, but Tarrin had leverage enough to lift a
foot. He stomped on his father's foot hard, making Eron wince, then hooked his
heel behind the foot he'd just stomped and pulled with his foot as he pushed
with the staff. Eron was pinioned between them, and tottered back as his foot
caught against Tarrin's heel. Eron gave up a hand on his staff and grabbed
Tarrin by the belt, threatening to pull both of them down and cause a
double-elimination.

But Tarrin wasn't put off. He gave his father a heavy
push, then quickly grounded one end of the staff and leaned into it. Eron
kiltered backwards, staff going wide, and then he started falling. Tarrin
leaned into his staff as Eron's hand on his belt tried to yank him forward,
using the staff as a buttress against falling. Eron fell backwards, reached
the end of his arm, and then was yanked to the side. He came to rest on his
backside, his staff under his leg, holding on to his son's leather belt.

"Winner, Tarrin Kael!" the mayor called, as
many of the spectators clapped and shouted and laughed. Tarrin helped his
father up, who still had that wolfish grin.

"Sneak," his father accused.

"Cheater," Tarrin bit back, with a smile on
his face.

"Thought you'd give that up if I threatened to
double us out," Eron admitted with a wink.

"I figured you did," Tarrin grinned back.

Tarrin's next match wasn't so quick. It was against
Jen Bluebird, who was deceptively powerful and very fast. Tarrin matched Jen's
speed with speed, and the two of them danced around each other as their staves
moved in blurred symmetry. Tarrin's moves were more precise, more crisp, than
Jen's as he moved from one move to the next, flowing like water around and with
his opponent. He blocked a flurry of high-low strikes from the staff, leaned
back out of reach of a high swing, then just moved his leg out of the way of a
strike at his ankle. Just his leg. Jen hadn't expected him to not move back,
and was too close. Tarrin drove the end of his staff between Jen's feet like a
spear and then twisted, putting one end behind his left foot and the side in
front of his right. Then he lifted a hand off the staff and punched Jen in the
stomach. Not hard, just hard enough to knock him backwards, allow the staff to
tangle his feet, and topple him.

Tarrin defeated his next opponent almost immediately.
It was Darl Millen, the wheelwright. Tarrin bulled into the heavier man,
supposedly playing right into his hands, then hooked his arm around his hip.
Tarrin stepped into his opponent, twisted so his back was to Darl, and dragged
him over his body in the Ungardt hook-throw. Darl landed on his back with a
thud in front of Tarrin.

Tarrin's final match was against Karn, and it was the
final match. Tarrin stepped up and shook the powerful, bald smith, giving him
a warm smile. Karn was one of his few friends in the village, a gruff man who
was as much an outsider as he, who had the talent to be much more than a
village smith. But this was the life that Karn loved, so this was what he
did. "I get ta' thump yer head, boy," Karn said in his gravelly
voice.

Tarrin laughed and looked down at the shorter man.
"We'll see who thumps who," he returned.

"Contestants ready!" the mayor shouted.
"Go!"

Tarrin instantly jumped back to the edge of the ring as
Karn settled his feet in his classic "like the mountain stone"
stance. Tarrin knew that fighting Karn on his own terms was suicide. He had
to make the big man move, make him do the attacking. Because Karn would be
perfectly content to stand in that one place and let Tarrin swing until his
arms couldn't lift his staff over his head. That was Karn's way. Patient and
methodical, the same way he hammered hot steel. Tarrin took up his staff in
the end grip and weaved the point near Karn's face, flicking the tip lightly
towards Karn's nose. Karn easily blocked the attempts, but Tarrin wouldn't
stop. The answering parries became harder and harder, as Karn became annoyed
that Tarrin wouldn't do what he was supposed to do and try to take the big man
down from the start so that the match didn't go on and go into his favor.
Karn's face turned black as Tarrin almost got him, the tip swishing a finger
from Karn's nose, and he gave a shout and stepped up to engage the younger,
taller opponent.

Tarrin ducked under a swing and blocked the reverse,
reset into a center grip, and engaged Karn toe to toe. He kept attacking just
enough to keep Karn on the offensive, goading him so that he wouldn't settle
back into his classic defensive posture. While they exchanged blows, Tarrin
analyzed Karn's attacking technique, looking for any exploits or holes. Not
surprisingly, Karn didn't have any worth exploiting.

They battled back and forth for several minutes, Tarrin
working to keep from getting bulled out of the ring while Karn defended his
knees and ankles, two of Tarrin's favorite targets. Bets and suggestions were
being shouted by the spectators around the ring, but Tarrin tuned it out as he
saw the hole he needed. Karn set his lead foot down heavy when he tried to
thrust. That was what he was looking for. Tarrin put a pace between them, then
worked Karn into a position where he would try to poke the end of his staff
into Tarrin's belly. Karn bit, stepping in and lunging the point of his staff
at Tarrin's ribs. Tarrin spun aside even as the thrust was delivered, the
wooden shaft missing his side by a finger. Tarrin dipped and bent going down
on one haunch as his hand flew out wide to counter balance the spin. His other
leg came straight out, and the momentum of his spin added to his strong kick
carried his foot around at high speed. His foot flew around and cracked
solidly into Karn's lead ankle. Tarrin felt his whole foot go numb, but he had
so much behind it that it pushed Karn's planted foot out from under him. Karn
windmilled his arms wildly, losing hold of his staff, then went down in a
tumbled heap.

Tarrin rose, still spinning, and came to a stop facing
the fallen Karn, staff in hand, tip grounded on the dirt.

"Och, boy, what in the name of the Gods was
that?" Karn groaned, pushing up onto his backside.

"That would be a spinning foot sweep," a
voice called as Tarrin put his hand out to help Karn up. Tarrin heard it
clearly over the cheers and calls from the crowd, and the mayor's cry of the
winner's name. Tarrin looked over, and saw the curly-haired knight step into
the ring with several other spectators. "That's an Ungardt move," he
noted aloud. "The Ungardt, she's your mother, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir," he said demurely, pulling Karn to
his feet. "You alright, Karn?"

"Fine, lad, fine," he said with a rueful
grin. "I thrust at ye, but ye just disappeared. Then I found my foot
trying to fly south."

"I think I broke my toe," Tarrin groaned,
settling his foot in his boot. "It was like kicking a rock. Is there any
soft part on your body?"

"A good move, son," the knight continued.
"Your mother, did she train you completely?"

"She taught me alot of what she knows,"
Tarrin replied, trying not to blurt out everything at once. It wouldn't
impress him acting like a fool. "I still can't beat her with her own
weapons, though."

Karn reached down and picked up his staff as the mayor
and Eron clapped Tarrin on the back. "Good match, my boy, good
match!" the mayor cried with a wide smile.

The knight was lost in the press, much to Tarrin's
disappointment, but he found himself swept up into the good mood and festive
atmosphere. He won the prize for staves, a new belt knife crafted by Karn just
for the occasion. It was a beautiful piece of work, with a hilt shaped like a
falcon, the wings acting as the quillions and the body the hilt. The tail
flared out to be a miniature pommel, and there was a hawk's head embossed into
the steel of the blade on both sides, where the shape had been carved out of
the steel and filled in with silver. Karn outdid himself with that bit of
artistic work. The blade was longer than Tarrin's hand, and it was razor sharp
on both sides.

Tarrin was sitting at the table, watching Eron and Elke
dancing on the Green while Jenna checked the arrows she'd used in the archery
contest for damage, when the knight's voice called out. "What brought an
Ungardt to such a secluded place?" he asked curiously, walking up to
them. Tarrin saw that the Sorceress was with him, looking at the siblings with
her penetrating gaze.

"She married father," Jenna piped in simply.
"Father wanted to live here, and mother came with him. She says it's
warmer than home."

"I would think that it is," the Sorceress
said in a mild, calm voice, touched with amusement. "You are brother and
sister?"

"Yes ma'am," Tarrin replied respectfully.

"I can see the resemblence," she said.

"Not many people can," Jenna said impishly.

"On the contrary, I cannot see how someone could
not see that you share common blood," the woman countered. She reached
into the bodice of her blue dress, and withdrew an amulet made of ivory. It
was rather unusual, Tarrin noticed, a circle holding a six-pointed star inside
it created by two triangles resting over each other in opposite directions.
And inside the six-pointed star was a four-pointed star, its points going in
the four compass directions, with concavely curved sides. At the center of
that inner star was a small diamond. "Do either of you know what this
is?" she asked.

"It's an amulet," Jenna replied.

"Not what it is, child, what the symbol
means," the woman elaborated.

"No," they both said, almost in unison.

"It is the symbol of my order," she told
them, pulling the chain over her head and holding the ivory object in her
hand. "We call it the shaeram. It represent the seven spheres of
Sorcery. Earth, air, fire, water, the power of the mind, the power of the
Goddess, and the seventh sphere, which is the power of confluence."

"Con-flewence?" Jenna repeated. "I've
never heard that word."

"It means the power of joining, of unity,"
she said with a smile. She held out the amulet to them. "Here, take it.
Hold it in your hands, and tell me what you feel."

Jenna took the ivory amulet and silver chain, holding
it in her hands and looking at it. "Ouch!" she cried, almost
dropping it before grabbing it by the chain. She quickly pawned it off to
Tarrin.

"What's the matter?" Tarrin asked quickly.

"It's hot!" she said loudly.

"Hot?" Tarrin said. He put his hand near the
amulet. "I don't feel any heat," he said, then he put his hand on
it. The instant he did so, it felt like he'd grabbed a piece of stock out of
Master Karn's forge. "Ahh!" he hissed, yanking his hand back and
shaking it violently to cool it. "How do you wear this thing without
getting branded?" he asked the Sorceress crossly. Jenna was blowing on
her fingers, giving the woman a baleful look.

"Here, let me see," she said calmly. Jenna
presented her hands. Her fingers were red and blistered. "By the
Goddess!" the woman said under her breath. "Here, you too, Tarrin
Kael," she said, in a commanding voice. Tarrin held out his hand.

His skin was severely blistered wherever it touched the
ivory.

"It burned you," she breathed in
surprise. She put her hand over Tarrin's seared fingers, and Tarrin suppressed
the desire to yank it away when he felt something flow into his hand.
The throbbing pain eased, and then was gone, washed away by some sort of
sensation that was warm and icy at the same time, and not entirely pleasant.
She let his hand go, and he gawked at it. His fingers were smooth, pink skin,
and showed no signs that anything had happened to them.

"How did you do that?" he asked in shock as
she took Jenna's hands in her own. Jenna yelped and tried to pull away, but
the woman's hands were like steel, holding them in an iron grip.

"My name is Dolanna Casbane, a katzh-dashi,"
she said formally. "What I just did is called healing, and with practice,
it is something that both of you will be able to do someday."

They both just stared at her.

"The young one is a bit too young,"
the knight said.

"No matter," she replied. "I am amazed
that neither of them have done anything. She needs instruction before she has
an accident." She put the ivory amulet back around her neck, tucking the
device back under her bodice.

"What are you talking about?" Tarrin asked.

"Both of you, you have tremendous potential,"
she said, pursing her lips. Then she noticed the slightly confused looks she
was getting. "Both of you have the natural talent to be Sorcerers, to be katzh-dashi,"
she explained. "Tremendous potential. The shaeramburned
you. I have never seen that happen before."

Jenna looked at her a bit fearfully. "What does
that mean?"

"That means that both of you must come to the
Tower of Six Spires, in Suld, and undergo formal training," she replied.
"Soon. Now."

"Jenna," Tarrin soothed, "calm down."
Then he looked at the small woman expectantly.

"There is no need to look so surprised," she
said gently. "Nor is there reason to be frightened. I will speak to your
parents, and let them know what has happened. Then we will all sit down
somewhere quiet and discuss what must be done."

Tarrin put his arm around Jenna, who had begun to cry,
then he pulled her into his arms and comforted her, his own mind tumbling
around a numb sensation. "It was wrong to just blurt it out like that,
Dolanna," the knight berated as the pair left.

"I was surprised," she said a bit ruefully,
and then their voices were lost in the din. He didn't notice the knight stop
and look back at them.

"But I wanted to be a knight," he said
numbly, putting his chin on the top of his sister's head.

They had been missing quite a while. Tarrin was still
sitting with Jenna at their table, but the sun was creeping very lowly down
along the western sky. His parents and the woman had been missing for hours.
Tarrin still held Jenna very close, for though she had stopped weeping, she
wasn't yet ready to give up on the feeling of comfort and security she was
receiving from his embrace. Tarrin wished that someone would do the same for
him.

Sorcery. Although his father had many times told tales
of the Sorcerers of Suld, Tarrin had never really paid much attention to them.
His father had worked with them in the past, and his stories and impression of
them was very good. Tarrin had been raised to believe that Sorcerers and
Sorcery were good things, and that the katzh-dashi deserved to be
treated with honor. But never, even in his wildest fantasies, had he ever
considered the possibility that he would be capable of using Sorcery. That was
a power for special people, the people in the stories. Although it existed, he
never dreamed that it would affect him so personally.

Poor Jenna. All her life, since she'd started to grow
into a woman, all she wanted was to find a good man, marry, and settle into a
life of blissful domesticity. She had no desire to leave the village, much
less travel all the way across Sulasia and go to the Tower in Suld. And she
was only thirteen. They had no right to take such a young girl from her
parents. And though Tarrin had always wanted to leave, being a Sorcerer was
not the life that he'd imagined for himself. He wanted to be a knight.
Sorcery was a totally alien concept to him.

The others seemed to sense that something was wrong
with the Kaels, but they did not intrude. Tarrin thought somewhere in the back
of his mind that they knew that this would happen to some family. Every time a
Sorcerer arrived, parents began to worry about ever seeing their children
again. Last year, Timon Darby was taken to learn Sorcery in the Tower, and
Leni Darby, his mother, had moped around, not speaking a single word, for over
three months. Timon had visited last month, and he looked well from the
glimpse that Tarrin got of him. What made it seem so bad was that the
Sorcerers wanted both of them, that his mother's sense of loss would be that
much worse with having to let go of both her grown child and her adolescent
child.

"Tarrin?"

Tarrin turned. Elke Kael was standing there with his
father and the Sorceress, the knight standing a bit behind them. It was
obvious that his mother had been crying. Eron looked somber and serious.

"Mother!" Jenna cried, flying from Tarrin and
burying herself into her mother's arms. She started crying again, her
shoulders shaking as she sobbed into Elke's wool shirt. Elke stroked her hair
and held her close, crooning soft words to her daughter.

"Child, there is nothing to be afraid of,"
Dolanna said calmly.

Jenna pushed away from her mother, her eyes burning
with something that Tarrin guessed was pretty close to hatred. "Get away
from me!" she shouted. "I don't want to go! I don't have to!"

"Child," Dolanna said, but Jenna cut her
off. Jenna raised both her hands, and Tarrin felt the most unusual sensation,
a sensation of drawing in. Except it was Jenna who was drawing whatever
it was. He could feel something, it, flow into his sister like a flood.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed.
Suddenly, pure fire erupted from Jenna's hands, and it roared at the Sorceress
like a wall of blowing dust before a tornado. The fire simply stopped
when it reached the woman, coalescing into a fiery ball in front of her. Then
it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Jenna stared at her hands in shock.

"That is why you must learn, child,"
Dolanna said firmly. "With your power, you could quite possibly destroy
the entire village. But you are right. We cannot make you go."

"Dear, you don't have to go," Elke said
softly, putting her hand on her shoulder. "Dolanna agreed to send someone
here to teach you. You're too young yet to leave, but they can't just let you
go around like this. You could hurt yourself."

"I don't have to leave?" she asked in a small
voice.

"No," Elke said with a gentle smile.
"When you're older, you will have to go to their tower, but not until
you're older."

"Mother!" she said with a sob, crushing into
Elke's arms again.

"She will learn much better in a place more
comfortable for her," Dolanna said to Elke calmly. "We have not had
one as young as she with the kind of power that she possesses. In such a
special case, certain exceptions must be made."

"What about me?" Tarrin asked.

"You, my young one, you will be going with
us," she told him. "We are leaving tomorrow. And you will not be
alone. Two other young ones will be going with us. Tiella Ren, and Walten Longbranch.
I believe you may know them."

"Tiella? And Walten?" he said in
surprise. Tiella was the herbalist's apprentice, learning the uses of herbs
for healing. Walten was the son of the village carpenter, a tall, rather
shiftless young man more fond of sleeping than working.

"When we return to Suld, I will send one of my
brothers or sisters here, Mistress Kael," the woman continued. "As
per our agreement, the instructor will reside in your home, so that he or she
can be close to Jenna." She turned and looked at Tarrin. "Do not
feel that going to the Tower is the end of all," she told him. "It
is not required for you to become katzh-dashi. If you decide that the
life of the order is not for you, then we will teach you what you need to do to
control your power, and then you may be on your way to pursue your own life.
But if you do wish to remain among us, I am certain that someone with your raw
power and potential would find a position of respect and importance among
us."

Tarrin nodded quietly, thinking back to what Jenna had
done, and what he had felt. It had frightened him, but at the same time, it
felt....wonderful. Like life flowing into him for the first time. Was that
how Sorcery felt when it was used? Tarrin was a curious person, and his
appetite had been whetted by that strange sensation. He suddenly found that he
wanted to know more about what it was about.

"There is little time to chat," she
prompted. "Tarrin, you must go home and pack for the journey, but you may
only bring what I tell you. You may bring enough clothing for the journey.
You may bring a knife for utility, you may bring any books that you own, and
you may bring some of your personal belongings, such as a razor. Anything that
you use in your day to day life. You may bring weapons, but not weapons of
war. Your staff and your bow are acceptable, but a sword or axe is not."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because novices come to the Tower carrying only
what they need, and you will not need weapons," she told him simply.
"You will need these items during the journey, so they will not be taken
from you when you arrive. But you will be expected to put them away, and not
touch them while there. If you were to bring a sword, it would be taken from
you and held, and then returned to you when you leave."

"Alright," he said. Despite it not being
what he wanted, that short touch on something larger was like a seed growing
inside him. Even though he still didn't want to be a katzh-dashi, he
found the idea of learning more about the sensation he experienced to look
better and better to him.

"You will return to the village after
packing," she told him. "You will spend the night in the inn, so we
may get an early start on the day."

"Wylan said you can borrow one of the inn's
horses," Elke told him. "Go ahead and go get your things. Make sure
you get enough clothing for a month-long journey. We'll be staying here
tonight too, so bring back a change of clothing for all of us."

"Alright, mother," he said.

"Well scoot!" she said, shooing him away.

"Be back soon," he promised.

He went to the inn first, and after talking to the
wiry, nervous-looking Wylen Ren, Tiella's father, he was on a horse trotting
back down the large trail that led to the secluded Kael farm. It didn't take
very long to get there, and he tied the horse to the porch rail and ran
inside. He had a leather pack for when he went hunting, made by his mother,
and he used that to pack up enough clothing for one month on the road. He also
added in his shaving razor and soap, then got his small cooking pot he used
when hunting and filled it with various odds and ends that he felt he may
need. He got his pouch that had his sling and a variety of sling stones and
metal sling bullets, metal cast-offs of Master Karn's forge that he formed into
little balls for a sling. That way he profited off the leftover metal. The
knife he'd won in the staff competition went on his belt, and two slender
throwing daggers were tucked into his boots, one on each side. Eron had taught
him how to throw daggers, and these were balanced for throwing. A third also
went on his belt, on the other side. He rolled up his outdoor bedroll, a thick
mat filled with down and scraps of wool to form a pallet-like mat, with two
heavy wool blankets and a small pillow rolled up inside it. When travelling on
the road, it was almost guaranteed that they'd spend some nights outside.

He came down out of the loft and went to the storage
room, and got his tent. It was a small tent, made only for one or two people,
but it was perfect for camping outside. He then picked up three extra quivers
of arrows for his bow, and took it all outside and started lashing what he
couldn't wear or carry on the saddle.

He stopped, and looked at the house, and he realized
that it would be the last time in a while that he would see it. He went back
in and went back up to his room, looking around just once more. He'd lived in
this room for the last ten years. His eyes came to rest on a section of wall
that was slightly different than the others, where he'd accidentally ran his
staff into the wood and made a big hole. It had happened in the winter, and
his father had made him sleep in the room with the hole to the cold outside for
two days until he could get it patched. He stood on the bed, and reached up
into the rafters running along the top of the attic, feeling around. He found
the small wooden box, then grabbed it and pulled it down. When he was younger,
he always used a chair on the bed to get up there, and hide this box. His
secret box, full of all the things that a young boy thought were important.
Many things had been into and out of this box, some of them even alive. He
opened it after sitting on the bed.

Inside were four things. A large tooth of some animal,
the sharp fang nearly as long as Tarrin's hand, a brilliantly glittering piece
of quartz crystal he'd once found out along the streambed of Two Step Creek, a
twisted nugget of pure gold, also found along the creekbed, and the wing. It
was a large gossamer wing, looking like the wing of a dragonfly. But this
dragonfly would have been nearly a span long. The wing was a bit longer than
Tarrin's hand, thin and delicate looking, but Tarrin knew it was very hard and
rather tough. It would also bend before it broke. It was translucent, and
when one looked through it, it scillinted and reflected in all the colors of
the rainbow. Tarrin had often spent hours gazing at the wing, mesmerized by
the colors, and dreaming about what animal or creature had once owned it. Tarrin
had found it out in the woods when he was eight years old. It was the first
thing that had went into the box, and it was the only thing that had been in
the box the entire time he'd kept the box. The wing was the reason he had the
box; he wanted to hide something that incredible, put it where nobody could
find it. He had owned it longer than anything else, and it was very special to
him.

He didn't want to leave the box here. It was as much a
representation of his life here as it was a possession. It had been filled
with his most secret secrets through the years, and the child in him didn't
want anyone else to come along and find it. He remembered Dolanna saying he
could bring personal effects. Well, this was the most personal effect he had.

He packed everything back into the box carefully, and
then used scraps of wool from his mother's work room to pad the contents.
They'd never been jostled around, and he didn't want to run the risk that age
would make the wing brittle. After making sure that everything was well
protected, he closed the box and set the tiny latch on the front. The box had
been a gift to him from his mother, and she'd always wondered what had happened
to it. Tarrin had let her believe that he'd lost it. He went back out to the
horse, noticing that it was starting to get dark, then packed the box deep into
his pack, where it wouldn't have to be removed to get at anything else. Then
he locked the front door, got on the horse, and hurried back to the village
before it got too dark to ride.

It had been a quiet, emotional night. Tarrin had spent
most of the night with his family, just sharing their company this one last
time before he left to go to Suld. It wasn't an unhappy time. As the hours
went by, the excitement of doing what he had always wanted to do began to take
hold of him, and Tarrin's leaving was something that the family was already
prepared to face. He was up well past a reasonable hour, listening to Jak
Longbranch, Walten's brother, playing his lute and talking. Tarrin's departure
had quickly circulated around the village, and everyone in the inn stopped by
to wish him good luck at one time or another.

He'd spent some of that time talking to Dolanna, and to
Faalken, the knight. He'd asked them about Suld, and they'd spent quite a
while describing the city, one of largest and grandest cities in the Twelve
Kingdoms. Dolanna described the Tower, with its six smaller towers surrounding
the huge central tower, which rose over the city like a tree in a meadow, how
the grounds were surrounded by a magical fence, and enclosed enough land to put
ten Aldreths inside comfortably. The Tower was home to more than the
Sorcerers. The knights had their academy on the grounds as well, and the Tower
ran a school for educating those willing to pay for it. Everyone in the school
was considered a Novice, although only a handful out of each major class had
the spark to be Sorcerers. Tower educated people had quite an edge on others,
so many rich nobles and merchants sent their children there to be educated and
gain that edge.

Faalken described the city in a bit more detail, like
the massive, grand, breathtaking Cathedral to Karas that was in the center of
the city, and the Eight Fountains, one at each compass point, beautiful sculptures
set in fountains, many of them rigged to spray water. The most famous was the
Fountain of Swans. There were many other landmarks in the city, like the Black Tower, a tower that was once home to a wizard, and now was a cursed place. Many came
to look at it, enjoying the perverse thrill of catching glimpses of the hideous
things that roamed the tower's halls, and occasionally appeared on the
balconies. Faalken had told him that they couldn't leave the tower, but that
anyone that went into the tower was putting his life in his own hands. Dolanna
had called the things trapped in the tower Demons, and she said that it was the
hands of the Gods themselves that trapped them inside.

Dawn came early, but Tarrin was already awake to greet
it. He was dressed and packed when Dolanna knocked on his door. She gave him
a cursory glance when she saw him fully dressed. "Do you often sleep so
little?" she asked.

"I don't sleep too much, no," he replied.

"That will work to your advantage at the
Tower," she told him with a smile. "Get your pack and come
downstairs. We will eat, and then be off."

Tarrin picked up his two packs, a personal one and one
for a pack horse, and then went downstairs. His father was already up, sitting
at a table with the knight as Wylan Ren set down plates of fried eggs and bread
and bacon. "Morning, Tarrin," Wylan said with a smile as he passed.
"I'll bring you some breakfast."

"Thanks, Master Wylan," he said, then he set
down his packs and sat beside his father.

"Morning, son," he said. "Sleep
well?"

"Well enough," he replied. "You?"

"Your mother kept me awake pretty much all
night," he said ruefully. "You warmed up to the idea of going much
faster than she did." He took a bite of bread. "Now that you've had
a night to think about it, what do you think?"

"I, I think I'd like to know more," he said.
"I don't know if it's what I want to do with my life, but looking into the
possibilities won't hurt me."

"That's a good attitude," the knight,
Faalken, told him. "A man set in stone will break before he can
bend." He leaned back in his chair some. "You know, maybe I can
convince the Tower to let us borrow you for a while," he thought aloud.

"Borrow?"

"You're Ungardt trained," he said.
"There's alot we could learn from our northern neighbors. They fight
better than most I've seen. They're not the wild savages people make them out
to be."

"Definitely," Tarrin said. "They work
very hard to be that good."

Faalken nodded. "I think all the screaming and
craziness is more show than anything else. They have a reputation for it, so
they have to maintain it." He grinned suddenly.

"A predictable opponent is a defeatable one,"
Tarrin quoted from his mother's many sayings.

"I see you learned your lessons well,"
Faalken said shrewdly.

Wylan Ren brought him a platter, and also weak ale for
everyone to drink. "Uh, Faalken, I need to ask you about the horse,"
he said.

"Don't worry about it," he said.
"Dolanna bought one of the inn's horses for you."

"Well, that's nice and all, but I don't ride very
often," he said. "I'm bound to get saddle sore."

"I'm sure Dolanna will take care of it if you
start getting raw," he assured him.

"That's a relief," he said, cutting into the
eggs.

Dolanna came down with his mother, and they ate
breakfast quietly and quickly. Just about the time that Tarrin finished his
breakfast, Tiella Ren staggered down the stairs. Tiella was a pretty girl,
fifteen years old and with blond hair and blue eyes. She was very petite, even
shorter than Dolanna, but had a very generous figure. She was one of the most
sought after girls in the village. Every boy in Aldreth sighed and staggered a
bit when Tiella Ren walked past. Tarrin had probably talked to Tiella more
than any girl in the village, because she was very smart, and she knew that
Tarrin didn't have a real interest in her in the way the other boys did.
Although she was very pretty, Tarrin thought of her as a friend, not like that.
She was wearing a plain wool travelling dress, one of her older ones so that
the brown dye had faded, divided at the skirt for riding. She too had a pack
with her.

"Tiella," Tarrin greeted. Tiella was not a
morning person. Tarrin had seen her in the morning before.

"Umm," she said blearily, sitting down.
Tiella had taken the apprenticeship with the herbalist as much for the fact
that he didn't get up until noon as anything else. "There should be a law
against getting up this early," she groaned, putting her elbows on the
table and putting her head in her hands.

Faalken grinned at Tarrin, then he smacked his palms on
the table. Hard. Tiella squeaked and sat bolt upright, then glared at the
cheeky knight with murder in her eyes. "I love dawn," he said with
an innocent grin. "I love them so much, I'm going to go outside right now
and check on the horses."

"You do that," Tiella said in an ominously
low voice.

The burly man got up and left without a word.

Dolanna came down with Walten moments later, as Wylan
came out, saw the two newcomers, and then went back into the kitchen. He
returned with three platters of breakfast, "Wylan, get two more,"
his father said. "I'm going to go wake up my wife and daughter."

"Certainly, Eron," he said.

Walten was a tall, lanky lad, sixteen years old, with
sandy brown hair and a narrow face. His eyes were small and set close
together, and his hands were scarred from working as the carpenter's
apprentice. He was wearing a simple brown tunic and leather breeches, the
knees of the breeches a bit thin from his need to constantly kneel.
"Tarrin," he said simply as he sat down. Tarrin and Walten didn't
talk very often when Tarrin was in the village, but they got along well
enough. They weren't exactly friends, but they didn't actively dislike each
other, either.

"Walten," he returned. Walten was notorious
for being a bit lazy, but Tarrin thought he understood why. On one rare
occasion when they talked, Walten admitted he hated carpentry with a passion
that bordered on holy. Tarrin could understand how difficult it would be to
motivate yourself into doing something you couldn't stand. He hated carpentry,
but he loved to whittle and carve wood. It was that hobby that convinced his
parents to apprentice him to the carpenter, but Walten had told Tarrin that
there was a big difference between shaving a piece of wood into a shape, and
nailing two boards together. Walten would have been a good woodcarver, but not
a carpenter. It was the shapes and designs that Walten could design in wood
that the kept the carpenter, a wiry, crotchety old man named Dumas Tren, from
throwing Walten out on his ear.

Tarrin didn't quite understand the difference, but he
kept his opinions to himself. Tarrin crafted arrows in his spare time, trying
to master the touch that his father had when making arrows, but what he
did wasn't quite the same as what Walten did. Tarrin shaped the ends of arrow
shafts to accept the head and the fletching, but Walten could carve remarkably
human-like faces and figures into wood. Tarrin could see a difference between the
woodworking he did and the work that a carpenter did, but not the difference
between what Walten did and the nailing part.

His mother and sister came down moments later, with his
father. Elke immediately sat beside him and brushed his hair away from his ear
impulsively. Jenna sat across from him, staring at the plate that Wylan set in
front of her woodenly.

"We must be off with the dawn," Dolanna said
as she sat down. "Eat quickly, young ones. We do not have much time.
Tarrin, take the packs and go help Faalken pack the pack horses."

"Yes ma'am," Tarrin said as Elke glared
darkly at the Sorceress.

Tarrin shouldered six packs, grunting under the weight,
and carried them out to the large stables to the side of the inn. Faalken was
there, saddling a small white palfrey, and a large roan stallion pawed the
ground behind him. It was a huge horse, and Tarrin didn't doubt that it was
war-trained. "Dolanna send you out?" Faalken asked.

He nodded. "Which is the pack horse?" he
asked. "I'll start loading it."

"Those two down there," he pointed to the far
stalls. "Those packs in the corner go on them too. Put all the food and
the tents on the gelding, and use the mare for the personal gear. I have to
reshoe Dolanna's horse, and that takes a bit of time."

"Alright," Tarrin said, and he went to work.
He pulled out one horse at at time, then saddled it with the pack saddle.
After that, he put on the bridle, then began tying packs and tents to the
fittings and loops on the pack saddle. After he'd loaded the gelding, he tied
it to a post at the feeding trough and went for the mare and repeated the
procedure. Tarrin worked with a quiet efficiency that got the job done
quickly, and he finished in time to help Faalken saddle the last two riding
horses and picket them at the feeding trough.

"Where did you learn how to handle horses?"
Faalken asked as they left the stable. "That was professional work."

"My father was in the army," he replied.
"He taught me how to take care of horses a long time ago."

"I've heard of your father," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes, his arrows fetch a high price in Suld."

"His arrows go to Suld?" Tarrin asked in a
bit of surprise. "A merchant from Torrian comes here and buys them from
time to time, but we always thought he sold them in Torrian."

"I guess he sends them on to Suld. Some of them,
anyway," he said as they returned to the inn. "Can you make arrows
like that?"

Tarrin laughed. "I can make decent arrows, but
nothing like my father's," he admitted. "Father has a magic touch
when it comes to making them. It's something I could never quite manage to
duplicate."

"Tarrin, what do you think happens to all those
arrows you make?" Eron asked.

"I thought we used them around the house," he
said.

"Son, if I did that, we'd have arrows coming out
the chimney. You make more than double what I do. But now that you're going
to school, I'm going to have to cut down the orders I accept," he noted to
himself. "My hands aren't as fast as they used to be."

"Speaking of school, it is time for us to
go," Dolanna said, standing up. "Young ones, pick up your packs and
go outside. We will choose mounts for you."

Elke stood and embraced her son fiercely. "You
mind your elders now, and do well in your training," she said in a
controlled voice. "And remember, your room is always there for you when
you come home."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Tarrin
promised.

Tarrin embraced his father warmly. "Do us proud,
boy," he said.

"I will," he replied.

Jenna crushed him with a fierce hug. "You write
me and tell me what it's like there," she said in a breaking voice.
"Maybe we'll be there together when I get there."

His family stood by the table. It was obvious that
they weren't going to see him off outside, and that was well enough for him.
He wouldn't be tempted to turn the horse around and ride back if he knew they
were there watching him leave. Tiella was saying her farewells to her mother
and father and three siblings off to one side, and Walten was being admonished
by his mother on the far side of the room about his manners and being a good
boy. Tarrin hadn't seen his mother come in, but he'd been out in the stables.

Tarrin shouldered his pack and, waving to his parents
and sister, he walked out the front door.

Outside, Faalken had the horses lined up and ready.
Tarrin selected the largest of them, a gray mare that looked to have a steady
disposition, and tied his pack to the saddle quietly. "They're staying
inside?" Faalken asked. Tarrin nodded, and Faalken nodded himself. "I
can understand that," he said. "I chickened out my first attempt to
leave home. I turned around and rode back."

"I was thinking about it," Tarrin admitted.

"Setting out on your own for the first time is
both exciting and scary," Faalken said, mirroring what Tarrin was feeling
inside. "You're excited about the idea, but part of you doesn't want to
abandon what it's come to know and accept as life."

"You're a very wise man," Tarrin said with a
smile.

"I've seen Dolanna play this out many times,"
Faalken admitted. "Be glad you got her. Many Katzh-dashi aren't
quite so gentle or considerate as she is."

"Is this all she does?" Tarrin asked.

"No, they take turns," he replied as the
others filed out of the inn. Tarrin noted that Tiella was looking back alot,
but Walten marched right up to a horse and started tying his pack on, humming a
tune and with a big smile on his face. Walten was certainly looking forward to
getting away from the carpenter. Tiella tied on her own pack, adjusting the
cloak her mother had given her a bit, and climbed up into the saddle. Tarrin
had his own cloak rolled up behind the saddle, a very tightly woven one that
was virtually waterproof. The air was a bit cool on this cloudless dawn, but
not so cold that he needed a cloak. And it was promising to be a warm day,
like most days were this time of the early summer.

Tarrin mounted the gray mare quietly, checking his
staff and bow, the bow set in the saddleskirt and his staff tucked into the
skirt on the opposite side. He had everything, hadn't forgotten anything, and
he was ready to go.

"How long is it going to take us to get
there?" Tiella asked curiously.

"It's four days to Torrian," Faalken
replied. "From there, we'll go to Marta's Ford, which takes six days, and
then get on a riverboat and take it to Ultern. That takes about nine days.
From Ultern to Jerinhold, and then to Suld, takes five days. Twenty-four days,
barring bad weather."

Dolanna gracefully mounted as Faalken climbed up onto
his roan. "Alright, young ones," Dolanna said in her calm voice.
"Let us be off. Tarrin, you lead the pack horses for now."

Turning their horses, Tarrin took the reins of the pack
animals from one of the stable hands that had come out to help. Then they
started down the Torrian road, beginning their month-long journey to Suld, and
ultimately to the Tower of Sorcery.

Chapter
2

It was a good day to travel. Tarrin led the pack
horses behind the others along the Torrian Road, as birds chirped in the early
summer morning and the sun peeked through the trees to warm the earth. This
stretch of road wasn't unfamiliar to Tarrin, who had accompanied his father to
Watch Hill numerous times, so he settled into a comfortable muse as he let the
horse plod along behind the others. Now that they were actually moving, he
couldn't deny that he was tremendously excited about this trip. He was still a
bit nervous over going to the Tower and learning magic, but even that was
starting to interest him as he thought back to the roar of fire that Jenna had
created, or the healing that the Sorceress had done. He began to think about
what she had said, about earth, air, fire, water, the mind, and the power of a
Goddess, and he began to speculate what Sorcerers could do.

There was a reason why he was put in the back, he noted
not long after they started out. It put a fighter at each end of the caravan.
Faalken took the lead, occasionally scouting ahead, leaving Tarrin to defend
the rear in case something snuck on them from behind. This was wild territory,
and just about anything could happen. There could be a new band of brigands
that had just settled in, or a pack of Bruga or tribes of Dargu, Waern, or even
a gaggle of Trolls could have come down out of the mountains to the north for a
bit of plunder. Those races, called the Goblin Races, were universally
malicious, cruel, and extremely hostile to human life. Bruga and Trolls were
very dim-witted, but Dargu were very cunning, and Waern were downright
intelligent. There were Ogres and Giants as well, but both of those races were
rather gentle and more amiable than their cousins. Ogres weren't very bright,
but they weren't evil like the others, and Giants were intelligent and rather
friendly when not encountered in their home range. Giants were welcome in most
cities, provided they were careful not to break anything. Four times that
Tarrin could remember, Giants had visited Aldreth to buy some things that they
couldn't make on their own. Master Karn had been commissioned to make
giant-sized versions of an axe and some belt knives, which looked more like
swords except for their massive hilts. It was a testament to Karn's ability
that he made them so well. The villagers of Aldreth had a good relationship
with that Giant Clan, which lived two days walk to the north, in the foothills
of the Skydancer Mountains.

They weren't the only forest beings that Tarrin
remembered seeing in Aldreth. Being right on the Frontier, Aldreth saw more of
the exotic beings than just about any other village or city in Sulasia. Tarrin
had seen Centaurs three times, and had once seen a Druid, a human that was
devoted to the power of nature. On a regular basis, people that looked like
humans came out of the forest and visited the village on market days, bought
assorted supplies and merchandise, and simply walked back into the forest. The
village had a long standing practice of not asking these people any questions.
They always behaved with exquisite courtesy, they paid with good money or
bartered with good pelts or other valuable forest goods, and it was promoting
good relations with their unknown sylvan neighbors in the forest to cater to
the needs of those that chose to live there. Those visits were one of the things
that kept Aldreth villagers out of the wild western forest. It had been a long
standing rule that no hunting or expeditions would go beyond the farthest
settlement, which was the Kael farm. Tarrin broke that rule with daily
regularity, but Tarrin felt that if he was willing to take the risk, then so be
it. Tarrin had travelled two days into the Frontier last year, curious to see
what kind of trees and underbrush would exist in a forest that had not been
seen by man in thousands of years. He hadn't seen any forest denizens, but on
the second day, he began to feel watched, and decided that they'd allowed him
to go as far as they wanted him to go. He turned around at that point.

These woods here between Aldreth and Watch Hill were
wild for the most part, but there were many farmsteads and freeholdings that
had been carved out of the heavy woods on both sides of the road. Most of them
were out of sight of the road, down cart tracks that disappeared into the
trees, but they were there. Not long after setting out, they'd encountered
Arem Darn, one of those freeholders, on his way to Aldreth with a load of hay
to sell. He had his wife with him, and their three children played in the hay
in the back of the cart. It was unusual to see a living soul on this road
until one almost got to Watch Hill.

"Tarrin!" Tiella called, shaking him out of
his musing consideration of the trees.

"What?" he asked. He noticed that Walten had
drifted back with Tiella, and Dolanna and Faalken were a bit up the road from
them.

"I said, what do you think of all this?" she
asked in a quiet voice.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I for one am a bit nervous," she said.

"I was planning on leaving anyway," Tarrin
shrugged. "I'm just going to a different place, that's all."

"Where were you going to go?" Walten asked.

"I was going to try to get into the Knights Academy," he sighed. "I knew it wasn't a sure thing, but this kinda blew
that out of the water. By the time I finish at the Tower, I'll be too
old." He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Maybe I'll go into the
army, like my father. If I decide not to stay at the Tower, that is."

"I can't wait," Walten said simply.
"I've hated carpenting since they day my parents stuck me there. At least
this is more interesting, and I get to do something." He looked up
the road. "I didn't want to spend all my life in the village
anyway."

"I've always thought of leaving Aldreth, but I
didn't really take it seriously," Tiella admitted. "And here I
am."

"Step it up, young ones," Dolanna called to
them. "We must stay together."

Tarrin and the others urged the horses to a faster
walk, and they were up with the knight and the Sorceress again.

They stopped several times over the day to rest, so
that the Aldreth villagers could get themselves out of the saddle and stretch
out muscles cramped by sitting down. They stopped for a meal of bread, cheese,
and dried meat by a large stream, in a small meadow near the bridge that
spanned it. Despite the slow pace and frequent stops, by the time the village
of Watch Hill came into view at dusk, sitting atop the small, rounded,
flat-topped rise, Tarrin's legs were painfully cramped and his back felt like
he had an axe in it. He almost fell down when they stopped outside the Hilltop
Inn and dismounted. The sky was changing into the colors of night when the
stable hands came out to get the horses. Three of the four moons were up, all
three of them full, and the Skybands, the bands of light that existed in the
sky both day and night, were going from their daytime dull white and into the
brilliant rainbow cascade of scillinting color that they wore at night. They
weren't too wide, about the same width as Domammon, the largest moon, which
rode just over the brilliant bands of color. Sometimes Domammon hid behind the
Skybands. Duva and Kava, the twin moons, had just risen. Vala, the Red Moon,
would rise around midnight, as it did at this phase of the month. The three
moons and the Skybands filled the darkening land with curious light, just
enough to see but not so much that details could be easily made out.

Watch Hill sat upon a single hill that rose out of the
surrounding forest, where there was a large flat valley. During the day, a
person could see quite a distance over the green-carpeted valley in which the
village stood, thus the village's name. The architecture was so much like
Aldreth that it was easy to see the similarities, but the layout of the village
was much different. The village followed the contours of their hill, arrayed
in rows on the flatter parts of the ridges along the sides, and with the inn
and the smithy sitting at the top. The hill had a gentle enough rise so that
the road went right up one side and down the other, with several spur streets
along the flat ridges leading to the homes and shops. Watch Hill was about
twice the size of Aldreth, with fifty homes and shops, and a population of
around four hundred both in the village and on the farms surrounding the base
of the hill. The Hilltop Inn was larger than the inn in Aldreth, a large four
story structure with a huge stable behind it, painted a bright red that was
quite visible for miles around.

Before Tarrin could move, he felt Dolanna put her hand
on the back of his neck. He gasped slightly as he felt an icy rush go through
him, but where the icy sensation flowed, the pain was washed away.

"Warn me next time!" he said in a
breathless hiss, holding onto the saddlehorn for support.

"Very well," Dolanna said in a light voice.
He had the suspicion that she did that on purpose.

The interior of the inn was spacious and rather
crowded. The people filling the inn were both the functionally dressed farmers
and villagers, as well as a few men in armor and wearing swords here and
there. These were caravan guards, hired by merchants to guard their wares as
they moved them from Watch Hill to Torrian. The merchants were here as well,
well dressed men, and a couple of women, sitting apart from the common folk of
the village like little kings and queens, with their noses in the air. Tarrin
didn't particularly like travelling merchants. Most of them were snotty and
arrogant, and they always tried to cheat their customers. At least the ones
that had come to Aldreth had. They'd thought that just because the people
there lived in an isolated community that they were stupid or too back-country
to know better. Tarrin knew that not all merchants were like that, but he'd
not had any good role models thus far with which to compare them.

A rotund, tall man with a bald pate and wearing a dirty
apron scurried up to them. "Mistress Casbane, it is good to see you
again," he said. "I have only two rooms left, but they are yours for
the taking, with my complements."

"Such a generous offer," she smiled,
"but we would not deny you the coin you would make on your rooms this
night. We will take your rooms, for the usual fee. I would ask, though, that
some supper be brought to us in our rooms. We will not dine in the hall this
night."

"It will be as you wish, milady," he said
with a warm smile. "Please, follow me. I'll have the hands bring up your
packs as soon as I come back down, and I'll send Emmy and Kamy up with dinner
for you. We have roasted beef and stewed potatos this night."

"I can hardly wait to taste your wife's excellent
cooking," Dolanna said with a genuine smile.

The rooms they were led to were on the second floor,
and were side by side. Both were the same size, and both were rather spartan
but clean. Each of them had three beds in it, a single stand with washbasin
and water, and pegs along the only free wall for cloaks and clothes. A lamp
was set into the wall near the door, and the innkeeper lit this lamp with his
candle in each room after opening the door. The room key was sitting on the
basin table, duplicate of the one the innkeeper had used to unlock the doors
from the outside. Tarrin had slept in this inn before, but not in this
particular room. He knew that the window would have a good view of the village
and the forest below, but right now there was only darkness. "Bring the
packs to this room," Faalken told the innkeeper as he moved into the
room. "Alright, boys, pick a bed. The one by the window is mine."

"I don't care," Walten grunted, flopping down
on the one against the far wall, by the washbasin. That left Tarrin the one
beside the door.

Tarrin sat down on the bed, surprised at how soft it
was, and took off his boots. Dolanna's healing touch had taken away the pain
of a day in the saddle, but not the aching weariness of a day's full activity.
Two men brought up all their packs and Tarrin's staff and bow, along with
Faalken's shield he'd hung from the saddlebow of his horse. Tarrin and Walten
took Tiella and Dolanna their personal packs, and by the time they returned,
two young, pretty women in simple dresses came into the room with large trays.
"Master Luhan bade us bring you dinner," she said with a coy look at
Faalken.

"Just set it anywhere, and mind you bring up the
Lady's dinner quickly," he told her.

"Yes, my Lord," she said with a little bob, and
the two women set their trays of food and drink down carefully on Tarrin's bed
so as not to spill them, and hurried back out.

"Dinner!" Walten said happily, snatching up a
plate and a mug of ale. He sat down on his bed, put his plate on his lap and flagon
on the floor, and tore into it like a starving wolf. Tarrin handed Faalken a
tray and flagon, then started on his own. He had to admit, their cook was very
good. The meat was seasoned while it was roasted, and seasoned well, and the
potatos had spices in them that Tarrin had never experienced. It was amazingly
good.

"Luhan's wife is Shacčan," Faalken said,
reading the surprise in the faces of his charges. "She cooks in their
classic style, which involves using spices. Luhan grumbles at the price of
those spices, but he more than makes up for the cost with the food he
sells."

"It's like nothing I've ever had," Walten
said. "My mother uses spices, but only what grows around the
village."

"These don't grow anywhere but Shacč,"
Faalken told him.

"No wonder they're expensive," Tarrin mused
as he took a sip of the ale. He was surprised. It was his father's. Tarrin
could tell his father's ale as clearly as a smith could see the difference
between a forge and an anvil. He laughed ruefully. "This is my father's
ale," he said.

Walten took another drink of his. "It is, isn't
it?" he agreed with a grin.

"Then your father's a good brewer," Faalken
said.

"It's a hobby of his," Tarrin said.
"I'll have to tell him that people who buy it are selling it instead of
drinking it," he said mainly to himself.

"Well, eat fast, cause we'll be up very
early," Faalken cautioned. "I suggest you go to bed right after you
eat."

"I intend to," Walten groaned, putting his
hand to his back. "Mistress Dolanna took away the pain, but not the
soreness."

"With good reason," he replied. "What
you're feeling is exhaustion, not just saddlesores. If she'd taken that away,
you wouldn't want to sleep. And you need it. Healing isn't just a touch and
you're well. It drains away some of your own strength, as well as some of
hers, before the magic of it puts some of it back. That's why it's not an
entirely pleasant feeling."

"You can say that again," Tarrin agreed.
"It felt like she put ice down my shirt."

"That's as good a description as any,"
Faalken chuckled. "It's worse the more she has to heal." He took a
drink from his flagon. "If you're hurt too badly, it'll kill you before
it can heal you, if the healer isn't very careful."

"What can Dolanna do with magic?" Tarrin
asked impulsively.

"I'm not going to answer that," he said
bluntly. "I'll leave the explanations of it up to her. I'd be a bad
teacher anyway." He looked at both of them, seeing that they were done.
"Finish your ale and let's go to bed."

"What about the dishes?" Tarrin asked.

"Oh, we put them on the trays and set them out in
the hall. Luhan or someone else will pick them up later. Now let's get to
bed."

They put their dishes out, undressed for bed, and
Tarrin put out the lamp after they locked the door.

Wake up, something seemed to whisper to him. You
have to wake up.

Tarrin awoke in the middle of the night. He had no
idea why; usually he was a very light sleeper, but he didn't wake up unless
there was a reason. He looked around. Walten and Faalken were still asleep.
The window was open, and a cool breeze blew in from the rather warm summer
night outside, the top of his windowsill illuminated in a very faint ruddy
light. Could that be what woke him up? That light was probably a torch, held
by a watchman or a latecomer down below.

He decided he was just jumpy, being the first night
out, and laid back down, ready to go back to sleep.

Then he heard it again.

It was the faintest of noises, like the sound of a man
stepping on a twig, but not quite. It came from under the floor, where the
kitchen was. He swung his legs out of bed, wanting to get a candle.

The floor was hot.

Tarrin pulled his feet back up quickly and reached down
and put a hand on the floor. It was hot. Very hot. That could only mean one
thing.

The kitchen was on fire.

"Faalken!" Tarrin called quickly, reaching
over and grabbing his boots. His boots were noticably warm where they were
sitting on the floor. "Faalken!"

"What is it?" he asked in a calm voice.

"The floor is very hot. I think the kitchen is on
fire."

Faalken reached out and put his hand on the floor, then
snatched it back. "I think you're right. Walten!"

"I'm up," he said grimly.

"Get on your boots and get Dolanna," he
ordered. "Tarrin, go downstairs and make sure. If there is a fire, get
everyone up and out of the inn."

"Yes sir," Tarrin said, yanking on his boots
quickly and jumping out of the bed. He went to put his hand on the door, then
yelped and drew it back. "Aaii!" he hissed, shaking his hand.
"Faalken, the hall must be on fire! I can't even put my hand on the
door!"

They could hear it now, the rushing, roaring, and
crackling that came with a fire. Smoke began to pour in from under the door.

Faalken jumped out of bed and grabbed his metal
gauntlet, put it on, and smashed his hand through the wall between their
room and the room holding Dolanna and Tiella. "Dolanna!" Faalken
shouted. "Dolanna, there's a fire! Get up!"

"Faalken!" she called in reply. "It is
too large for me to try to affect! We have to go out the windows! Throw our
packs down and jump out the windows!"

"Tarrin, Walten start throwing out packs!"
Faalken ordered, getting on his boots. "I'll go out first and catch the
ladies as they jump!"

"Come on!" Walten called urgently to Tarrin
as they ran to the packs stacked neatly in the corner. They quickly formed a
unit. Tarrin would toss packs to Walten, who was standing by the window, who
would then throw them to the ground one story below. Tarrin picked up the last
pack and threw it to Walten, then he started collecting up Faalken's armor and
his sword belt. "Go on, I'll get these!" Tarrin ordered.

"Alright, I'll catch them on the ground,"
Walten said, climbing into the window and then dropping out of view. Tarrin
waddled across the room under the heavy burden of the weapons and armor, then
carefully dropped them out of the open window. Tarrin saw many people in
nightclothes milling about on the grass below as many of them threw buckets of
water on a raging fire on the first floor and a bit to Tarrin's right. That
was the light that had illuminated the top of the windowsill. "Tarrin,
come on!" Walten called, waving his hand.

"I have to get my things!" he said. "I
have time!"

Tarrin rushed back in and grabbed his bow and staff,
made a fast sweep to make sure they hadn't left anything, and then ran back to
the windowsill. Just as he reached it, there was a loud bang behind him, and
he suddenly found himself smashed against the wall. On his kness, he turned
and looked as he felt sudden, searing heat against his back and side.

The door had exploded inward under the heat, and the
raging inferno was sweeping into the room like water. Tarrin saw something
for a fleeting instant, and then saw it again. It almost looked like a man,
except its outline was one of flames, and it was almost invisible in the
conflagration around it. But he could see its eyes, green slits or pure light
that stared out from the flames like twin beacons of doom. It seemed to point
at him, and the fire erupted at him like water rushing from a cracked dam.

Blinking away his surprise, he quickly got to his feet
as the fire swept in after him. He didn't have time to do this gracefully.
Just as the fire was about to engulf him, he turned and dove headfirst out the
window.

There was a feeling of weightlessness, as the
ruddy-illuminated ground changed places with the starry sky in a whimsical
manner, and then there was a numbing pain all along his right side and the back
of his head. He felt his mind swirl around like the sky and ground had done,
so much so that just trying to remember how to move was quite a chore. He
managed to roll over and get onto his hands and knees, but his head refused to
respond to his commands to lift it, hanging limply from his shoulder as he
groggily tried to get up.

He got some semblance of response from his neck. His
head lifted partially up, but his brain instantly swam in a haze of distorted
pain and disorientation. It proved to be too much for him. Without a sound,
Tarrin slumped down to the ground as his mind descended into darkness.

Tarrin was first aware of the light. He opened his
eyes as they registered a dancing, wavering light against the inside of his
eyelids. He was laying on the ground on his back, staring up at the stars,
partially hidden by smoke. Dolanna, in a nightshirt, was kneeling beside him,
and his body registered an icy after-feeling and an exhaustion that he wasn't
used to feeling. The wavering light was the fire. It had totally consumed the
entire structure, regardless of the attempts to put it out, and now men and
women worked feverishly to keep it from spreading to other buildings. They
were well away from the blaze. Walten and Tiella stood nearby with Faalken,
the three of them holding onto the reins of their horses. Their packs were
both on the ground nearby and on the horses; obviously they'd been tying them
on to make it easier to move. Tiella was in a nightshirt, and Walten in
nothing but breeches and boots. Faalken had found the time to put on both his
clothes and his armor.

"The next time you decide to dive out of a
window," Dolanna said with a crisp voice but a smile in her eyes,
"try to land on your feet."

"I'll remember that," he grunted as he sat
up. "What happened?"

"The fire spread faster than I have ever seen a
fire spread without the use of oil or magic," Dolanna said sourly.
"By the Goddess's grace, nobody was killed. You were the last one out,
young one.

"Did we get everything?" he asked.

"I believe so," she replied. "We need
to get dressed and decide what to do next. Tiella, come with me."

"Yes ma'am," Tiella said, picking up her pack
and following the diminutive woman.

"That was impressive, the way you dove out of that
window," Walten said with a grin as he tossed Tarrin a pair of breeches.
"You landed on your head."

"I didn't have time to do it any other way,"
he shrugged. "Better a bump on the head than barbecued Tarrin."

Faalken chuckled, picking up another pack and starting
to tie it onto a packsaddle.

"Where's my staff and bow?"

"They're over here," Faalken assured him.
"You landed right on the bow. You'd best make sure it didn't crack."

They dressed quickly, and Tarrin checked his bow and
staff for damage as Walten helped Faalken add the rest of the packs to the
saddles. Tarrin was bone-weary for some reason. No doubt an effect of the
healing. Faalken had said that it took some of the strength of the person
being healed. Well, he certainly felt drained. He leaned heavily on his staff
for a few moments, then sucked in his breath and set his weapons into the skirt
on the saddle. "I see the stable was spared," Tarrin said.

Faalken grunted as Walten said "we had time to get
everything. Sir Faalken, what are we going to do now?"

"I'm not sure," he said, tying down the last
pack, "but it would be best if we just rode on. It's a couple hours til
dawn right now, and it serves us no purpose staying when we have nowhere to
stay. They'll want us travellers out from underfoot while they deal with this
anyway. That, and the longer we stay, the more that they'll think the fire was
set by someone."

"Why is that?" Walten asked.

"Because we'd be visible, we're strangers, and
something bad happened. It's natural for them to want to blame somebody."

"I didn't think of that," Walten said quietly
as Dolanna and Tiella returned. They were wearing curiously similar brown
dresses, but Tiella's was of wool while Dolanna's was of silk.

"Tarrin, do you feel well enough to ride?"
she asked immediately.

"I can ride, ma'am," he said confidently.

"Excellent. We will start out. There is no place
for us to stay, and it is close to dawn. It will just give us more time to
travel this day."

Quietly, the small group mounted their horses and, with
Faalken leading, they left the village of Watch Hill with the reddish light of
the fire illuminating the road. That large fire was like a beacon that was
visible for miles on end, a grim monument to the passing of a fifty year old
building.

It was not a good start to this trip, Tarrin thought
grimly as he looked back.

It was cloudy all day, and there was a fierce wind that
tore from the north. Tarrin had his cloak on, pulled around him and with the
hood drawn up to protect himself against the dust and leaves that blew on the
wind, the dust picked up off the road behind them and the leaves from the
forest. The air had also noticably cooled; at this time of year, with the
conditions the way they were, Tarrin knew it meant that there was a thunderstorm
moving in.

The day had passed in almost total silence. They'd
left Watch hill moving at a very fast pace, as if to put distance between them
and the accident behind them They stopped not long after daybreak for a short
rest, eating a cold breakfast of cheese and dried meat, then had set out again
at a pace only slightly slower. The fire last night had subdued Walten and
Tiella somewhat the same way it worried Tarrin. They all thought that it was a
bad omen of some kind, a warning that there was worse to come. Dolanna and
Faalken were quiet as well, but theirs was a wary quiet; this stretch of road
was wild, with the next populated area being Torrian itself, some two and more
days down the road. The reason the caravans hired guards was to defend against
raiders and brigands that were known to ambush along the road from time to
time. Tarrin's strength seemed to rush back into him after breakfast, and he
felt his old self by noon. Faalken had scouted ahead from time to time,
leaving the defense of the rear to Tarrin.

He rode up past his friends to Dolanna, who was riding
her small white palfrey at the lead while Faalken ranged ahead to sniff out any
potential hazards. "Mistress Dolanna," he called.

"Just Dolanna will suffice until we reach the
Tower, Tarrin," she said in her gentle, relaxed voice.

"Dolanna, we need to find shelter, soon," he
said. "There's a storm chasing out of the north."

"Yes, I know," she assured him.
"Faalken is looking for a place of relative shelter as we speak."

"I hope he's looking for something solid,"
Tarrin said. "The thunderstorms we get this time of year can be really
nasty."

"He will find us something," she assured him.

Faalken rode towards them even as she spoke, coming
around a bend farther up the road as Tarrin glanced behind them. The clouds
were getting black back there. The storm wasn't too long in coming.

"Dolanna, there's a cave about a quarter mile up a
game trail, about a half mile up the road," he told her. as he reined in
beside her. "It's been used. It's a bandit hideout of some sort, or was
at one time."

"It will have to do," Dolanna said, glancing
over her shoulder, back at the clouds. "Is there room for the
horses?"

"Yes, plenty," he told her.

"Then I think we had best get there soon,"
she said. "There is not much time before the storm reaches us." She
turned to Tiella and Walten, who had begun to watch the black clouds behind
them and talk to each other. "Faalken found a cave for us to shelter
in," she told them. "I think it best we hurry. Let us pick up the
pace."

They urged the horses into a canter, and quickly
reached the game trail as the first rumblings of thunder reached them. The
black clouds were moving faster now, but their progress was hidden by the trees
as the small party moved as fast as the horses could along the narrow, twisting
trail. The forest turned gloomy, and then dark; it seemed to Tarrin that it
was more like darkness than the gloom of a storm. "It's going to be a bad
one!" Faalken warned. "The cave is right past that bend, so let's
get moving!"

The cave was set into the face of a steep incline that
marked the base of a hill. The opening was rather large, but it quickly
bottlenecked into a tight passage not far inside. They dismounted outside the
cave mouth. "Take the reins and follow me," he said, holding out an
unlit torch to Dolanna. Tarrin felt that curious sensation again, and then the
torch lit by itself. "There's a large chamber just inside the chokepoint
we can put the horses."

Tarrin had to yank on the reins of all three horses as
a loud crash of thunder almost instantly followed up a blindingly brilliant
flash of lightning. "I'm going to need help with the pack horses!"
Tarrin shouted over a sudden howling gale that tried to drown out his voice, but
Faalken's nod and wave told him that he'd been heard. Tarrin waited just
inside the entrance as the others led their horses into the narrow passage one
by one, forcing the unwilling animals to enter the confining space as Tarrin
sawed and yanked on all three sets of reins to calm the horses down. Faalken
and Walten reappeared quickly, and the three of them led the remaining horses
into the narrow passage with Faalken leading and Tarrin in the middle.

The chamber at the end of the chokepoint was indeed
large. It was almost the size of the stableyard of the Road's End Inn, nearly
a hundred spans long. There was an obvious place set up on the north end, the
end holding the entrance, for horses. There was even a water trough and fodder
laid in neat stacks. The walls of the cavern were very rough and irregular,
meandering this way and that, but the chamber was still rather wide at its
widest point. The ceiling was also irregular, but at its lowest Tarrin could
just barely scrape his fingertips across the stone when he raised his arm. The
south end of the chamber had a sand-covered floor, with a firepit neatly laid
out directly under a very small hole in the ceiling. The hole didn't open
directly to the outside. Tarrin looked up there and saw that it was pretty
badly slanted, but that didn't let the rain just fall it. Instead, there was a
pretty steady stream of water that fell from one side of the hole and dropped
into an area where the sand had washed away, creating a loud splashing. There
was another white flash from the hole, and the whole cavern shook with the
ear-splitting crash of thunder that followed it up. They all took down the
packs, and pretty quickly a well organized campsite had been set up. Tarrin
laid out the bedrolls as Walten set up wood for the fire, moving the stones
forming the firepit a bit to get the fire away from the waterfall pouring from
the chimney hole. Tiella and Dolanna were taking out food for dinner and
cooking utensils. Faalken had taken a large piece of tarp, probably one of the
tents, and was securing the entrance to the chamber with it to form a door of
sorts. He then ducked through it to do something outside. Tarrin doubted he
would be long, for it was raining like the furies out there.

Tarrin was sitting to one side of the fire, back to the
wall, checking his arrows one by one in a methodical fashion, as Walten sat
beside him. Faalken was stirring a stew that had been set over the fire, and
Tiella was talking with Dolanna in hushed tones across the cave. "Not
such a great start to an adventure, is it?" he asked.

"Adventure?"

"That's how I see this," he said.
"Getting out of stinking Aldreth, getting a chance to travel with a knight
and a Sorceress, going to see Suld. This beats making cabinets any day of the
week."

"I'd be eating dinner at home about now," he
said.

Walten gave him a strange look. "You know,
there's alot of rumors that fly around about your family," he said.
"Tel Darlik used to say that all you did over there was train to kill
people."

"Not quite," he chuckled. "I did learn
how to use weapons, and hunt and all, but how do you think we got our
food?"

Walten laughed. "We never thought about things
like that," he admitted. "I've never even been out to your farm
before."

"It's a farm," he shrugged. "We have a
house and a barn and a toolshed and such. Father has a brewhouse where he
makes his ale, and we have fields out behind the house."

"Sounds like you miss it," he said.

"I do," he replied. "I've been
preparing to leave Aldreth for two years now, but now that I'm really gone,
most of me wants to turn around and go home."

"Preparing to leave?"

"Since I was a boy, I've wanted to be a
knight," he said. "Well, mother and father trained me with that in
mind. Two years ago, I decided that that's what I was going to do. I'd earn a
chance to test for it, and go to Suld. If I got in, great. But if I didn't,
well, there was always the army, or fletching, or something that I could do to
earn my way."

"Everybody always used to say that you didn't do
anything," Walten said. "You weren't apprenticed to anyone. All you
seemed to do was hunt. My mother used to say that you were a shiftless, lazy
freeloader. But that's her," he said quickly.

"Words are words, I guess," he said.
"Besides, the rest of the village really didn't understand. Most of them
couldn't see past my mother."

"Well, women aren't just wives and mothers,"
he said. "Most women are as big as men there, so they can learn to fight
if they want. They crew the sailing ships like men, they fight in the clan
armies, they do about anything that men do. And men don't mind all that much,
cause they're used to it."

"That is different," Walten said, taking out
his knife and a chunk of wood and starting to work on it. "You ever meet
your mother's father?"

"A few times," he replied. "His name is
Alrak, and he's about twice as big as me. He's very nice. He came to the
village to visit with mother."

"Oh, yes, I remember that now," he said.
"The last time was, what, five years ago?"

Tarrin nodded, putting away his last arrow and securing
the quiver cap. The rain sounded like it was beginning to taper off outside.
"I don't think I'll ever understand that," he said.

"What?"

"That you hate carpentry, but you like
woodcarving."

"Nailing boards together is boring," he said
defensively. "This is alot more fun."

"Whatever you say," Tarrin said with a grin.

The storm passed quickly after that, so they ate with
general silence, then went to sleep.

The next day dawned clear and warm, and they set out
again. The forest showed signs of the ferocity of the storm, for there were
limbs and even a few trees littering the forest floor, and Tarrin spotted one
tree that was split in half with its insides blackened and charred. It had
been struck by lightning. The road was damp but not muddy, having mostly dried
over the night, but Tarrin found that he rather liked it, for it eliminated the
dust that had been swirling in the wind the previous day. Dolanna pulled them
up for a moment as she considered the area. "If we move a a good pace, we
can reach Torrian some time after nightfall," she said to Faalken.

"Aye," he agreed. "We made good time
yesterday, even with the storm."

"It was the extra time we had, from when we left
after the fire,"Walten surmised.

They rode rather hard most of the day, stopping only
for very brief rests and eating lunch in the saddle. The pain of the saddle
had begun to creep into Tarrin's legs and backside again, and about
midafternoon he saw that he wasn't the only one. Dolanna had stopped them when
Walten began to slow down, then did her healing work on them all again. After
that, they returned to the brisk canter that had propelled them so far. They
encountered five or six other travellers on the road, all but one of them
groups of merchants riding to Watch Hill. The last was a party of King's Men
patrolling the Torrian road to discourage bandits. They rode past the armed
party without a word.

It was well past sunset, riding by the light of three
full moons and the brilliant Skybands, when they topped a hill and looked down
into the shallow valley that held Torrian.

From what he could see of it, Torrian was a large city,
surrounded by a stout wall of huge logs sharpened at the tops. The hazy sight
of buildings could be seen inside the walls, as well as occasional points of
light that marked a torch or other light source along the streets. It was
about ten times the size of Aldreth. Tarrin wasn't the only one to gawk at the
size of the place; he'd never seen something quite so large before.

As they started down the hill towards the city gate,
Tiella looked fretfully at the wall. "Won't they have the gates
closed?" she asked.

"Yes, but there will be a guard at the gatehouse,
over the gate," Dolanna replied. "That guard will order the gates
open."

"Good," she said. "I'd like to sleep
inside tonight."

"What is the matter?" Dolanna asked.

"I don't know," she said, looking around,
"but I have the feeling that something is going to happen."

The gate was a large pair of wooden slabs bound with
iron, with a large room of some sort built onto the wall above it. A single
light oulined a small window, and at that window a silhouette appeared.
"The gates stay closed til sunrise," the man called down.

"I am Dolanna Casbane," she called back.

"I don't care if you're Sheba the Pirate,"
the man said back.

Dolanna reached into her bodice. "I am not
she," she said in a level voice. "But I am a katzh-dashi.
By law and the agreements between the Tower and the King, you must obey my
request to open the gates." She held the amulet up, and Tarrin saw that
it started to glow with a milky white light.

There was a span of silence after the silhouette
disappeared, and then it was back. But it was a different voice. "He's a
new man, Mistress," an older voice called. "They're readying to open
the gates now. Please step back a bit."

"My thanks, sir guard," she said as they
moved back. "It has been a long day, and we require food and rest."

"Most of the inns are full, Mistress, but the Duke
is at home," the guard called down as the gates began to creak and groan.
The left gate pulled away slightly, moving at a slow, loud pace. "I'm
sure you can get hospitality from him."

"I know Duke Arren," Dolanna said. "He
is a most kind and generous man, and one of the best stones players I have seen
in many years. Yes, I would like to pay him a visit."

"I take it you know the way to his keep?"

"Yes, I am familiar with the way," she told
him as the gate came to a groaning stop, more than wide of an opening for them
to enter.

"The Gods be with you, Mistress," the man
above called down.

"May the light of the Goddess illumine you,"
she returned.

They followed Dolanna as the three younger ones gawked
and stared at the streets of Torrian. The streets were narrow and a bit
crooked, with large houses built so close together that they all seemed to be
the same structure in the darkness. There was an acrid pall that hung in the
air, what his father had always called the "city smell", the smell of
garbage, unwashed people, waste, and stone and wood. The streets were not
deserted, as people moved to and fro in small groups, or parties of city
watchmen patrolled the city in search of thieves.

It was obvious where Duke Arren lived. It was a huge
keep set on a small hill overlooking the river that flowed through the city.
It was a brooding structure, with impressive stone walls and a deep, steep
ditch dug around the walls that were filled with sharpened stakes, the towers
of the keep itself visible over the walls. There was a drawbridge out over the
staked ditch, down, with a gatehouse on the other side. A portcullis hung
threateningly at the top of the gatehouse roof, ready to drop down to protect
the castle from invasion on a second's notice. Four men stood at the other end
of the drawbridge, and Tarrin could see about ten more sitting around a table
set up in the courtyard beyond the gatehouse. Dolanna stopped them at the edge
of the drawbridge as two of the four advanced. Tarrin could see that they were
all wearing chain mail armor, and all four held pikes.

One of the two, the taller, one, called out in a friendly
voice. "Mistress Casbane?" he asked.

"You have a good memory," Dolanna smiled.
"I have not been here in many years."

"I remember you," he said. "You healed
my broken arm. Duke Arren is here. Would you mind waiting in the courtyard
while I send a man to let him know you're here?"

"That would be very good," she said.

The two men led them over the drawbridge and into a
large courtyard, where they dismounted. Like the castles that his father had
described, this one had several buildings inside the impressive walls. He
couldn't identify all seven of them, but one was obviously a smithy and another
a stable, and another looked like either a kitchen or a storehouse. The ten
men sitting at the table set up in the middle of the courtyard were the only men
to be seen, and despite the many torches set in holders along the walls, the
courtyard was dark and foreboding. The main keep was on the far side of the
courtyard, a massive construction of huge stone blocks that clawed its way well
past the height of the city walls. It had a tower on either side of the main
structure, which was easily four stories tall. There were a multitude of
window, both arrow slits and larger, more conventional windows, but those
larger windows were on the upper floors. There was a balcony on the highest
level that he could see; that, most likely, was the Duke's private bedroom.
Eron Kael had remarked to Tarrin once that Torrian Keep was over a thousand
years old, and in all that time, it had never fallen to an enemy army. He also
said that if he ever had the chance to visit it, to go to the main hall and
look for a small hole just to the right of the center on the wall where the
raised dais was, where the old Duke of Torrian had been killed by a man who had
used a bow so powerful that it had driven the arrow through him and so deeply
into the wall behind him it had left a hole half the length of an arrow. That
had happened three hundred years ago, so his father said, and it had started
the civil strife that had brought the present family into power in Sulasia, the
kings of the Markas line.

The front doors were massive, at the top of a steep
staircase that made the entry level the second floor, and the ground floor a
basement. They were made of wood, but they had hammered bronze sheathing the
wood, creating a burnished look that was more than visible in the light of the
two torches to each side of them. It was obvious that several servants
polished those bronze covered doors fairly often. The doors opened a bit, and
a rather well proportioned man wearing a red doublet and hose exited. As he
approached, it was obvious he was a middle aged man, but still burly in the
shoulders and spry of step. Once he was near, Tarrin saw that he was a very
handsome man, with a few wrinkles around his eyes and some gray peppering his
black hair and beard. Dolanna curtsied to the man gracefully as Faalken bowed,
and Tarrin, Walten, and Tiella followed suit. Just alot more clumsily.

"It's good to see you again, Dolanna," the
man said with a smile. "Still roaming the countryside?"

"When I have the chance, your Grace," she
replied with a smile. "Faalken you may remember, but these young ones you
have not met. May I present Tiella Ren, Walten Longbranch, and Tarrin Kael,
pupils journeying to the Tower."

"Pleased to meet you," the Duke said with a
smile.

"I know it is late, old friend, but do you have
room for five more?"

"Dolanna, I'll make room," he said with a
grin. "I need to throw some of these lackeys and sycophants out
anyway."

"If it pleases you, your Grace, may we dispense
with the visiting until tomorrow? We have been on the road since before dawn,
and we are all tired."

"Of course, of course," he said. "I'll
have baths arranged for you, and some dinner, and some rooms with soft beds.
We can catch up on old times in the morning, over breakfast. Tiv, have the
hands stable the horses, and have their packs sent to their rooms."

"Aye, my Duke, I'll see to it," one of the
men behind them replied, as he trotted towards the stables, shouting some
names.

"Come along then, we'll go give my seneschal some
work to do," he said.

The entrance hall of the keep was massive, with vaulted
ceilings and several suits of armor arrayed on posts to each side of the hall.
There was also a huge, well made tapestry hanging at the far end of the hall,
where it opened into the main hall of the keep. "Your Grace," Tarrin
blurted, "my father told me a bit about this castle. Is the hole still
there?"

Duke Arren chuckled. "Yes, it's still
there," he replied. "You can look at it in the morning, if you
like."

"Maybe," he said, blushing at having said
anything in the first place.

"I remember him. Tall fellow with wide
shoulders. The deadliest bowman I ever saw in my life. I hear he makes a
living selling arrows now."

"He brews ale on the side for something to do, my
lord," Tarrin said, a bit startled at this bit of information.
"Pardon my asking, but how did you know my father?"

"He was garrisoned here for a while," he
replied. "He had this wife, the tallest woman I ever saw, an
Ungardt--" he looked at Tarrin a bit closer. "Yes, that would be her
I see in you," he mused to himself. "Are they still married?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Amazing. I was sure she would have killed him by
now."

Tiella giggled.

"You have quite a family reputation in front of
you, my boy," Duke Arren told him as they went up some stairs at the far
end of the entrance hall. "Eron Kael was a good man, the kind of man we
like to have around. His wife, well, she was quite a work. She was the best
fighter with an axe I ever saw. If not for the law against women fighting in
the army, she'd probably had been a good officer. Karas knows, even I jumped
when she barked commands at me."

"I'm just surprised you knew my father, my
lord," Tarrin admitted as they turned into a wide, well lit corridor that
had a thick rug that went all the way to both ends.

"He was the kind of man that's hard to
forget," Arren told him.

They went up another flight of stairs, and were in a
large corridor much like the one below, again with a rug on the floor.
"Each of you pick a room," he offered, pointing down the corridor.
"People will arrive very soon and draw baths for you and bring up your
belongings, and I'll have some roast venison and some soup brought up for
you."

"I'll take this one," Tarrin said, pointing
at the nearest door.

They all said their goodnights, and entered their
respective rooms.

Tarrin was shocked at the room. It was very large,
with a poster bed in the middle of the wall to his left. There was a washstand
with a basin and pitcher against the wall with the door, and a writing desk on
the wall facing the bed. A large footchest was at the end of the bed, and a
nightstand flanked the bed on each side. A large window was on the far wall,
with a tapestry depicting a charging knight on the wall beside it. All of the
furniture was old, possibly antique, and it was all ornately carved with
flowing leaf and vine designs. He sat on the bed tentatively, feeling the soft
feather mattress, as a woman in a plain brown dress entered. "My lord,
we're bringing in your bath," she announced.

"Thank you," Tarrin said. Two large men
carried in a copper tub, and a procession of servants emptied buckets of
steaming water into it. Two more carried up his pack and his staff and bow,
and then in a whirlwind of hasty activity, they finished filling the tub,
handed him soap and a couple of large towels, and set a large platter of piping
hot venison and a large bowl of soup on the desk, then put a mug beside it.
Then they were gone.

Tarrin sank into the bath gratefully, scrubbing three
days of dirt and sweat off of himself, then cleaning his hair. Then he just
soaked in the water langorously as he ate the dinner that was brought him--he
didn't want it to get cold. After his skin began to wrinkle, he climbed out
and towelled off, and then dressed in a clean nightshirt and underdrawers.
Almost as soon as he pulled the shirt over his head, there was a discreet knock
at the door. "What is it?" Tarrin asked.

"Are you finished with your bath, my lord?"
came the woman's voice.

"Yes ma'am," he replied.

The door opened, and she stepped in. "Would you
like the tub removed?" she asked.

"Yes, please," he said. "I don't want
to get up in the night and trip over it."

Five men came in, and as three of them filled huge
buckets with lukewarm water to lighten it, the other two picked up the tub and
carried it from the room. "Will there be anything else?" the woman
asked as she picked up the empty dishes and damp towels.

"No, thank you very much," he said.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile, and
left the room.

Tarrin climbed into the bed almost excitedly, ready to
get into some serious sleeping in such a nice bed. He reached over and turned
the lamp all the way down, and then pulled the hood so the tiny bit of light
emanating from it wouldn't bother him. Then he snuggled in and fell asleep.

Wake up, something seemed to whisper to him. You
have to wake up.

Again he woke up, for no apparent reason. It was still
dark outside; very dark, with only the light of the Skybands filtering into the
window with the warm night breeze. He looked towards the lamp.

And saw the indistinct silhouette above him.

Without thought, almost instinctively, Tarrin rolled out
of the way even as the figure's arm smashed down against the pillow with so
much force that the bed shook. Tarrin felt hot lines of pain along the side of
his neck as he twisted aside, rolling up into the blankets and he spun aside,
falling off the bed. He then immediately rolled in the opposite direction,
under the bed, unspooling himself from the constricting covers. He got free of
them just as the bed sagged from the weight of his attacker. Tarrin shimmied
out from under the bed between the bed and the washstand and quickly got to his
feet. He saw the indistinct shadow across the bed, between him and his staff.
It hunkered down a bit, and then suddenly was flying towards him with shocking
speed.

With speed born of thoughtless reflex, Tarrin bent his
knees and twisted, just like he'd been taught to avoid the pounce of a rock
lion. The shadowy assailant had aimed for his high chest, but Tarrin was now
under that angle of attack. He reached up and out even as something snagged
his shirt at the shoulder. It didn't register to him that the palm of his hand
came into contact with a woman's naked breast. His other hand came up under a
flat, tight belly, and he helped the attacker along on its flight across the
room, using its momentum to hurl it headfirst into the washstand. There was a
horrifically loud crack as the washbasin and pitcher shattered, spraying water
all over the wall, him, and the bed. The stand itself was crushed with a loud
smashing crunch, splinters and shards bouncing across the carpeted floor as
Tarrin quickly reached out and unhooded and turned up the lamp, then without
even looking, jumped over the bed and ran to the far corner to fetch his
staff. He turned around armed, confident that that noise would alarm someone,
but he was brought up short by what he saw.

It was a woman. Almost. She was totally nude, but it
wasn't her unclad condition that caused him to stare in shock.

She wasn't human.

Her arms and legs were covered with white fur, to just
above the elbow and just above the knee. Her hands and feet were oversized for
her body, noticably so, and were an odd cross between a human's hands and an
animal's paws, with wide, thick fingers and toes and feet sufficiently large
and long so that she stood up on her toes. Each limb ended with large, long,
wickedly sharp claws on the fingers and toes. One of those white-furred hands
was stained with his blood. She was standing with her back to him, shaking her
head to clear the cobwebs of the impact, and he could clearly see that she had
a long, cat-like tail growing from between the muscles at the very top of the
cleft of her backside, covered in white fur. She had red hair, this creature,
so thick that it all but stood straight up at the top of her head, but not so
tall that the back of triangular, cat-like ears weren't visible. She turned
around quickly, and Tarrin stared at what was probably the loveliest face he'd
ever seen, but a face twisted into a snarl of animalistic rage. She had high
cheekbones, a small, pert nose, and a sharp chin, but it was her eyes that
captivated him. They were nothing more that two slits of pure green, literally
glowing from within with an unholy radiance that made his blood run cold. Her
body was tight and well defined; it was obvious that she was very strong the
way her muscles rippled and shifted as she moved. Tarrin did see that she was
wearing a collar of some strange black metal around her neck.

She growled at him, hunching down in an obvious
preparation to lunge at him in the same manner she'd done so before. Tarrin
saw with dismay that she had fangs. She may look human, he decided, but
this was not a foe to take lightly. A single swipe from those wickedly clawed
hands could kill. Tarrin held his staff at one end in the end-grip, getting
ready to bat her out of the air if she tried it again. She jumped up on the
bed and hunkered down, almost on all fours, her growl lowering to an ominous
rumbling in her throat, and then she lunged. Tarrin brought his staff up and
around with every bit of power he had. The cat-creature put her feet on the
floor and reached out with her hand, and caught his staff. Tarrin's
hands felt the shock of the impact; it felt like hitting a rock. She grabbed
hold of his staff and yanked, ripping it out of his hands, and threw it aside
contemptuously.

Tarrin hopped back, almost stunned. This thing was strong.
It would have taken two grown men to rip the staff out of his hands the way
she just did. She stepped forward so fast he almost missed it, and missed
getting his head ripped off by the span of a child's hand as he ducked under
her open-handed swipe. He stepped through her overswing, getting behind her,
looped his hand around her neck, and then bodily hauled her over his shoulder
in the classic Ungardt neck-throw. Done right, it broke the opponent's neck
before any part of him touched the ground. It was a killing move, but Tarrin
had quickly realized that only one of them would walk out of this room alive.
Not only did it not kill her, but she twisted in his hold and put her feet on
the floor as she came over. Before she could set herself, Tarrin lunged
forward, letting his weight bull his lighter opponent. But it was like trying
to push a mountain. She'd dug her claws into the stone, and he was not about to
move her.

He cried out in shock when she picked him up around the
waist with one hand, and then bodily threw him all the way across the room.
He impacted the wall with a bone-numbing impact, landed on the writing desk,
and then fell with the writing desk as it collapsed under his sudden weight.
She was on him almost instantly, but he had presence of mind to kick out with
his leg. His shin impacted her foot solidly, and despite her strength, she
wasn't able to defend against it. Her legs were swept out from under her,
spilling her to the ground on her side and back as she grunted in surprise and
pain with the hard landing. Tarrin grabbed a splintered leg of the desk and
sprung up, holding the wood like a dagger, and tried to plunge it into the
woman's face. She quickly caught his wrist in her hand, stopping it as quickly
as if he'd struck the floor, and her hand closed around his wrist. Tarrin
heard the bones snap audibly as her inhuman strength crushed his left forearm.
In a haze of pain, Tarrin gritted his teeth and fixed her with a baleful gaze
full of hate as he let go of the wood with his right hand , falling from his
limp hand and to the floor beside them, and punched her dead in the face. Her
head snapped to the side, and the grip on his broken arm eased, but he was
motivated to keep it up. He punched her again, and again, and once again,
bloodying her nose and breaking one of her teeth. She seemed disoriented, so
he quickly got his feet under him and stomped deliberately on her belly. Her
breath whooshed from her lungs with a sound that was quite satisfactory to
him. He did it again, higher up, hearing her ribs break under the force of his
bare foot smashing down on her. But one of her feet suddenly was up and
between his legs, and the heel of her foot smashed into his lower belly so hard
he was catapulted into the footchest by the bed, crushing it underneath him, as
his back slammed into the footboard of the bed.

Tarrin wheezed for breath as the creature got to one
knee, hugging a set of broken ribs with one arm as her other helped support
her. He felt like he'd fallen fifty spans out of a tree. Tarrin got to his
feet first, scampering around the bed and to the nighstand, where his dagger
was sitting. He drew it and advanced quickly as the creature gained its feet,
still a bit wobbly. He lunged at her as if to stab her, but she twisted to the
side. He was waiting for just such a move. He quickly went to one knee even
as her clawed hand swiped at the air where his face had been, then sprang up
with every bit of power he could put behind his shoulder. His shoulder slammed
into her broken ribs with enough power to lift her up off the floor. His
broken arm reached around her and held her side as he ran as hard as he could, ignoring
the hot lines of pain that he felt against his back and thighs, smashing her
punishingly against the wall. She again lost her breath as Tarrin rebounded
off of her. Tarrin slammed the elbow of his broken arm against her head,
pinning her head to the wall, and drove the dagger into her heart.

Tarrin felt hot blood wash down his hand. She made no
sound, only fixed him with a look so evil it chilled his blood. But instead of
limply losing her strength, she grabbed his broken arm in one hand as her other
grabbed the forearm of his right. Tarrin quickly twisted the dagger in her,
making her shudder, but it did not stop her.

She twisted her head around, pushed his arm slightly
away, and then sank her fangs into his forearm.

Tarrin screamed as white-hot pain instanly erupted in
his arm, followed by a fatally ominous numbness. Tarrin twisted the dagger
again, which only made her saw her teeth back and forth, making him all but
howl in pain as her long, sharp teeth worked deep into his flesh, gnashing and
shredding the flesh of his forearm. It was a gruesome battle of wills, to see
who would stop inflicting pain first, to see who could withstand more. But
Tarrin was only human, where she obviously was not. Unable to withstand the
pain blasting into his arm, Tarrin let go of the dagger and put his hand on her
neck, then literally ripped his wounded arm out of her mouth, tearing a sizable
hole in his own arm to do it.

Tarrin staggered back, cradling his numb arm as the
creature simply pulled the dagger out of her own chest. There was a great deal
of blood smeared on her breasts and flowing down her belly, but the wound, that
would have killed about anything Tarrin could think of, hadn't seemed to phase
her much at all. She fixed him with a gaze full of hate, but oddly enough, a
sort of grim respect.

Tarrin knew he had no chance against her. He never
really did. And if nobody had come by now, then nobody would. But he'd given
her a fight that would make her earn her kill, and he wasn't about to stop
now. He was Ungardt. He would die with honor.

"Come on," Tarrin growled, letting his numb
arm hang limply at his side and balling up his fist. "Let's get on with
it."

She snarled at him, baring her fangs stained with his
blood. She then took his dagger and threw it at him. He saw the throw coming,
so he easily evaded the missle as it streaked by as if shot from a bow. The
dagger struck the door, and there was a loud snapping sound as it went through
the door and cracked into the wall outside. She then advanced on him slowly,
as if she knew that he was too wounded to make any sudden or fast moves, as
Tarrin tried to back up. She took her time, letting him take a step back for
every step she took forward, and it wasn't until it was too late he realized
what she was doing. His foot snagged on a piece of what was left of the desk,
and he stumbled slightly. She lunged at him in that exact instant. She hit
him fully in the chest, driving him backwards to land heavily on the floor.
The back of his head cracked into the floor, making his vision dance and weave
as stars filled his eyes. He managed to focus his eyes just in time to see her
rear back one hand-paw, claws extended, as the other came to rest on his upper
chest to hold him down.

But she never delivered the blow. She stayed like that
for several seconds as her eyes registered surprise, then shock, then rage. He
felt the muscles of her legs, up against his sides, flex and bunch, as if she
was trying to move something or push something, but she wouldn't move. He even
felt the claws of the hand on his chest shimmy and flex, as if something was
holding her hand down, and she was pushing against it.

"By Karas' Hammer, what is that
thing?" he heard Faalken's voice. Faalken came into view quickly over his
view, from behind.

"Do not touch her!" Dolanna's voice
cracked like a whip. The creature glared at Faalken with that unholy gaze, and
Tarrin saw the knight take a step back.

Tarrin put his head on the stone in relief. Talk about
arriving in the nick of time. His heart was still racing from the fight, and
that racing was what made him realize what was happening to him.

The numbness had spread, and now there was an angry
itching and burning in the arm where she had bitten him.

She lifted off of him as if an invisible hand had
picked her up, and she was pushed back and off of him. She came to rest on her
knees, still locked in that position of delivering the fatal blow. Tarrin sat
up unsteadily, putting a hand over his racing heart. He could feel it
inside him, like a venom. Could she have a poisonous bite? Whatever it was,
it had already spread all through him. He was almost totally numb inside and
out, from head to foot, except for the itching and burning in his ripped arm.
"Dolanna," he said in a slurred voice, as he tried to roll over and
get to his feet. His actions were jerky and erratic as unfeeling muscles tried
to respond to his mental commands. He felt Faalken's hands on his sides, and
he was helped to his feet.

"Tarrin, lad, what in the Abyss happened in
here?" Faalken asked, looking at him with a professional eye, assessing
injury. Tarrin was a mess of blood and shredded clothing, with angry red welts
that would develop into spectacular bruises later. His left arm was badly
mangled, and he had exceptionally deep lacerations on his neck, back, and on
both thighs from the creature's claws. The room was completely smashed; Tarrin
had given back as good as he got.

"It, she, tried to kill me," he returned in a
wooden, listless voice.

"Tarrin!" Dolanna said quickly.
"Tarrin, did she bite you?"

He tried to find the words to reply. It took a moment
as he worked through the haze in his mind. "Yes," he finally
replied. "She almost ripped my arm off."

"Faalken," she said in a suddenly strangled
voice, tightly controlled, "Faalken, do exactly as I say. Do not argue.
Let go of him, Faalken, let go of him and step away from him very
slowly."

"Dolanna--"

"Do it!" she snapped.

Tarrin felt a sudden sharp stab of pain in his wounded
arm. He winced and grabbed it, but then he felt it again, then another pain in
his shoulder. "Dolanna, something's happening," Tarrin said in
sudden palpable fear. He could feel something inside him, something
that suddenly felt like a knife in his belly. "Augh!" he cried,
doubling over and putting both hands on his belly. His left arm was on fire,
and that fire was sweeping through him like an avalanche.

In an instant, there was nothing but pain. Blinding,
white hot pain that filled him like a cistern, flowing over and washing through
him like fire in his veins. His small cry instantly became a howl of such
agony that Faalken backed away from him like he was Death Herself come to claim
him. The pain scoured away all conscious thought. But some part of his mind
knew full well what had happened, and what was happening. Wherever the fire
touched, his body began to change.

His hands cracked and split, cracked again as bones
were broken and reformed, expanded, changed, and then reset. Fingers lengthened
and thickened, and claws formed from the nails of his fingers. His feet
lengthened and expanded, the toes becoming larger and more defined, with even
larger claws forming from the nails. His back was hunched, but it was obvious
that the bones in his spine had reformed themselves, adding to his height as
his torso elongated slightly even as his legs and arms grew longer by a
proportional amount. Tarrin's ears simply fell off as two black cat's ears
sprouted up through his hair, just over and behind his eyes and just behind the
hairline of his forehead and bangs. There was a ripping sound, and his tail
emerged from behind him, pink with new skin as it grew as fast as a snake could
slither, then it thickened and fleshed out. Then black fur quickly grew over
it, over his arms to above the elbow, and his legs to above the knee. His
teeth all simply flowed into slightly different shapes, slightly more pointed
and sharper, except for the wicked fang-like insicors that grew out from the
gums on both his upper and lower teeth.

Then his long scream ended. He slumped to his hands
and knees, his tail hanging limply behind him and his claws retracting back
into their resting positions inside his fingers and toes, as he panted in deep
breaths of air. He tottered to one side, then the other, and then fell onto
his side, oblivious to the world.

"By all that's holy," Faalken said in a mute,
awed voice, staring at Tarrin like he was a live snake.

Dolanna's gaze was on the creature. She looked
unsually subdued, her body still wrapped up in the solid air she'd woven around
her. Her face carried a strangely remorseful expression, but it was her eyes
that caught the attention of the Sorceress. They looked on Tarrin's altered
form with pity. The collar, Dolanna could sense, was magical. Foul magic, the
type used to control other beings. She could sense the weaves of magic inside
it as she probed the black metal collar. It was specifically made to force the
owner to do what the collar's owners commanded.

She has been forced into this, the Sorceress
thought grimly. Something has sent her to kill him.

Several of the Duke's men arrived at last, and they
tried to bull into the chamber. But Dolanna halted them with a single forceful
command to stop. She wove certain flows of magic into the collar, disrupting
its controlling effects, and then found the clasp to unlock it from her neck.
She took it off of her smoothly, and could literally see the hazy, unfocused
look in the creature's crystalline green eyes. It looked up at her in
confusion. She turned to the guards. "You will take this creature to a
holding cell," she instructed in a voice that would brook no opposition.
"You and you," she pointed to two men wearing leather gloves, "you
will carry her, and you will do exactly as I say. You will carry her to the
cell, making sure you get as little blood on you as possible. Once you are
there, you are to lock it in the cell and leave it be. Both of you are to
remove your uniforms and gauntlets as carefully as you can to make sure the
creature's blood does not touch your skin. Then you will burn the uniforms.
Is that understood?"

"Is it poisonous?" one of them asked.

"Not a poison, but the creature's blood is deadly
to humans in its own way," she said. "So long as you do not touch
her blood with your skin, you are perfectly safe. Sergeant, nobody is
to enter that cell without my explicit permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," the guard sergeant said in a
steady voice.

"Do it," she said. Two guards hurriedly
rushed in and grabbed the paralyzed creature by her sides, then carried her
statue-like form from the room, keeping her as far from their bodies as they
possibly could.

"Madam, what about that one?" the sergeant
asked, pointing at the unconscious Tarrin, laying on the floor.

"Leave him to me," she said in a quiet
voice. "Now leave us. I will not be disturbed. Faalken, get the cover
and use it to pick up Tarrin, and place him on the bed. Do not touch any blood
on him. It may be the creature's. Then stand outside the door so that I am
not disturbed."

Faalken grimly collected up Tarrin's limp body in the
quilt that was laying on the floor and gently placed him on the bed, which
happened to be the only piece of furniture in the room that was still whole.
"What happened to him?" Faalken asked quietly.

"I cannot tell you that yet," she replied,
sitting on the edge of the bed with a look of dreadful concentration on her
face. "Now leave me. I cannot afford any distractions."

Chapter
3

It took a long time for Tarrin to awaken.

It had almost been like he was drifting in a deep
blackness, floating in a void where he could not see, but garbled sounds and
impressions somehow drifted into his awareness. He registered several voices,
but could not make them out. He would drift into and out of these impressions,
hearing the voices murmur up from nothing, and the fade away after a time,
never understanding the meaning of the words. There was more than sound in the
void, there was also smell. Unusual smells and odors touched his awareness,
from simple things like the smell of candles and wine and wood and stone, to
complex scents that he could not even begin to describe nor understand. Unlike
the sounds, the smells were there always, flooding his shrouded mind with its
bizarre information.

Tarrin also realized that he wasn't alone in the void.
There was something in there with him. It was a presence, a compilation of
instincts and motivations that defied rational thought. It was always there,
just behind him, as firmly attached to him as was his right arm. But at the
same time it was not part of him. It was something that he couldn't describe,
and he pondered on it for a long time before the brilliance of light penetrated
the blackness, and he realized that he was waking up.

He opened his eyes, the sensations and impressions of
his sleeping mind forgotten. The light was...bright. Very bright. He was in
a rather small chamber that held nothing but the bed, a small table of some
sort with two chairs, the chair Dolanna was sitting in, and a single stand
beside the bed holding a lamp. Tarrin didn't feel quite up to moving yet, so
he spent the few moments trying to remember what happened. There was...a
fight. That cat-creature woman had attacked him. Had almost killed him. She
would have, if Dolanna hadn't stopped her literally at the last instant. She'd
torn him up too, broke his arm, nearly ripped it off. But the whole thing was
a hazy blur in his mind. Only the part where she bit him was clear in his
mind.

It was about that time that he realized what he was
smelling. He could smell everything around him. The bed, the wool of
the blanket, the leather of the chair. The spicy-musky-warm smell that was
strong in the room was coming from Dolanna. And there was a myriad of other
smells assaulting him, smells that he couldn't identify easily, faint ones and
strong ones, sour ones and sweet ones, light ones and heavy ones. He could
hear quite clearly his own breathing, Dolanna's breathing, and he could just
barely make out the sound of the beating of her heart. Never in his life has
his senses been so lucid, so sharp, so incredibly sensitive. The light of the
single lamp, the fire turned down very low, was as bright as the daylight to
his eyes.

The numbness. When that creature had bitten him, there
was a numbness that had spread through him, almost like a poison. Then there
was pain, pain so severe that his mind didn't want to remember it. Then
nothing. Had the creature's bite caused this change in his senses? Was it a
side effect of the venom she injected into him?

There was more, he realized. He was feeling odd new
sensations along his body. His sense of touch was more acute, but there was a
sensation of things being touched that he didn't have. There was no way for
him to describe the sensation, even to himself, but he was feelings things
where he didn't have things to feel. He decided to try to move. He shifted
his legs, putting his feet down on the mattress, getting ready to push himself
into a sitting position.

Then his claws snagged on the sheet.

His heart seizing in his chest, he realized that that
was exactly what he was feeling. He pulled an arm out from under the covers,
and stared at it in numb shock. His arm was fully healed, and it was covered
in black fur to just above the elbow. His hand was almost twice the size it
had been, with thick, long fingers that had pads on the insides and on the
palm. He could see the tip of claws recessed up inside his fingers, retracted
out of the way.

"I'm sorry, Tarrin," Dolanna said in a weary
voice, looking at him. "There was nothing more I could do for you."

"How?" he managed to ask.

"It was her bite," she told him quietly.
"Her condition can be passed to others through contact with her body
fluids. When her spittle got into your blood, it began the change."

Tarrin stared at her, his mind whirling. Then a little
voice in his head carrying his mother's imperious demeanor snapped at him to
get over it. "What's done is done," his mother would always say.
"Worry too much over what's behind you and you don't see the root in front
of you," his father would remark. It was done. He had been, been changed.
Crying and panicking over it would do no good, and breaking down wasn't going
to help him now. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up to a sitting
position. While doing so, he sat on something that had a feeling of pressure.
Reaching under him with his other hand, he grabbed something that felt the
sensation of being grabbed. Almost absently, he realized that it was a tail.
Whirling images of the nude creature came back to him then, and he realized
that he looked just like her now. The fur, the hands and feet, the claws, and
the tail. Probably the ears and teeth too. A run of his tongue through his
mouth confirmed that aspect of his suspicion. A tentative hand to his head
proved the other, as the pad of his palm crushed down on his cat-ear. It was
an eerie sensation.

"What now?" he asked calmly.

She gave him a curious look. "A strange question
to ask," she said. "I thought you would have started demanding to
know what was going on. Or perhaps start rearranging the furniture."

"My mother always says that's what's done is
done," he said grimly. "Going into conniptions at the moment isn't
going to help me."

"A wise woman, your mother," Dolanna said,
sitting up. "And it seems that the training you have received from your
parents is going to help you. That is very good. You have a strong mind and
an even stronger will, young one, and those will be you allies.

"The worst of the news, Tarrin, is that I cannot
change you back," she told him bluntly. "Your body is not what it
was, and I cannot separate what was once you from what you are now without
killing you."

"I sorta expected that," he sighed.

"The change is not just physical. You have taken
in the instincts, the essence, of the animal of which you now are part. In her
case and yours, it is the common housecat." She pushed her rather
dishevelled hair back from her eyes. "Now this, this is where I have
helped you. Do you feel the presence of that side of you? It should be there,
inside with you, but it will not be easy to recognize."

He remembered the sensation of not being alone before
he woke up. It was still there, but not very strongly. But now that he knew
what he was looking for, he could find that other side of himself, the Cat,
sitting in a corner of his mind. "I can feel it, but it seems far
away," he told her.

"That was my doing," she told him. "The
sudden introduction of that animalistic set of impulses into you would have all
but driven you mad," she told him. "I have contained that part of
you so that you can adjust to its presence. As the days pass, the spell I
have woven will weaken, and you will feel it more and more in your mind, until
the spell is gone and you must deal with it on your own. But this will give
you time, time to adjust to it, time to learn how to control it. Soon, in
days, you will begin to hear the song of its instincts trying to guide your
actions," she warned. "That song will get stronger and stronger as
my spell wanes, but it will give you the chance to learn how to deal with it
without any negative consequences."

"Consequences?"

"Tarrin, it is not human," she said.
"When you are in danger, or angry, or afraid, that part of you will lash
out, just as an animal would. It does not see right or wrong, or laws, or what
is proper or improper. It is an animal, and it will react like one. It is up
to you to control that, because if the animal takes control of you for too
long, what makes you human could be lost to it, and you will spend the rest of
your days as the animal you will have become."

Tarrin paled at that, but he nodded. Just as his
conscious mind was in control, it seemed logical to him that if he had another
mind, then it too could take control. Although the instincts he could feel in
his mind wasn't precisely another mind, it was a different aspect of his own.
The Cat was part of him, but it was not. More to the point, it was a new part
of him, and that unfamiliarity was part of the danger.

"There are, advantages to what has happened,"
Dolanna said quietly. "You are now a Were-kin, a Were-cat. The Were-kin
share several distinct advantages over humans. Most have great strength,"
she told him, and he nodded. That woman had thrown him across the room with
one arm. If that wasn't "great strength" he had no idea what was.
"Were-kin can be hurt by weapons, but they cannot cause permanent injury
unless they are weapons of magic or weapons of silver. I saw that you stabbed
her with your knife. That probably did nothing but make her angrier."

"It did," he said. "That's when she bit
me."

"You may have sharper senses now, but that I
cannot tell you. I have never read nor talked to anyone that had a knowledge
of the Were-cats. They are a very rare and seclusive breed." She leaned
back a bit. "You are now linked to the cat, physically and mentally, so I
would surmise that you share its traits. Strength, speed, and agility. The
senses of a hunter."

"I can smell you right now," Tarrin told her
quietly. "And there are, other smells, smells I can't identify."

"You will, with practice," she said.
"And that is what matters right now. If you can gain a familiarity with
your physical form, it will help you understand and deal with the instincts
that are part of you."

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"Look at your hand," she said. He did so.
"There are claws recessed into your fingers. Make them come out."

Tarrin gave her a look, then looked at his hand. He
tried to flex his hands to get them to come out, but all they did was shift
inside their sheaths. Clawing his hands did make them come out a little, but
they didn't actually extend. There was a muscle in there, he realized, muscles
that he had to learn how to move. Kind of like people who could wiggle their
ears, they always said it was a matter of knowing which muscles to flex. It
was the same with this, but the problem was, these were muscles he didn't even
have when he'd went to sleep. He furrowed his brow in concentration, relying
on his enhanced sense of touch, and a strange, new feeling of just knowing his
body. He could feel the claws in there. He seemed to sense that they were
worked by certain muscles attached to the bases. He clenched his oversized
hand into a fist, and then opened it and tried again, flexing inside
rather than outside.

Silently, five claws, each one as long as Dolanna's
little finger, slid out from the tips of his fingers. They were vicious,
formidable looking weapons. He looked at them and wondered how that creature
had managed not to kill him. They were hooked, like a cat's claws, sharp
along the inside edges and at the tip. "Very good," she
complemented, as he relaxed his hands, and the claws slid back up inside his
fingers.

Tarrin's belly growled. "Think I could get
something to eat?" he asked.

"Yes, I will have something sent up to you,"
she said, scrubbing her eyes with her hands. "Now that you are awake and
seem to be well, I can get some sleep," she said.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Three days," she replied wearily. "The
wounds you took in the fight were dreadful, and on top of that, this happened
to you. Your body exhausted almost all of its energy in the transformation,
which healed you as a side effect. You may not have survived had I not been
here. And I wanted to be here when you awoke, to help calm the shock and fear
of finding this waiting for you when you awoke."

"Three days," he said in wonder. It didn't
feel like he'd been asleep for three days. "Do, do the others know?"

"Faalken does," she said. "I told Duke
Arren what happened as well. Walten and Tiella only know that you were
severely injured, but they do not know you have been changed. I will tell them
now, so that they can adjust to it."

He couldn't help but ask. "What happened to her?"
he asked.

"She escaped," she said grimly. "She
killed twelve men while doing it. My spell wore off much faster than it should
have, and she ripped the cell door off the hinges. She killed the cell guards,
two other guards, a servant, and a stablehand. Arren tried to trap her inside
the castle by raising the drawbridge, but she simply climbed up the wall and
jumped off the top. If she would have simply waited, none of that would have
been necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"She was wearing a collar," Dolanna said.

"I remember it," he interrupted, an image of
her coming to his mind.

"It was controlling her," she continued.
"She was being compelled by magic into doing what she was doing. It was
not really her fault. She was being used. I think she was fighting the collar
the entire time."

"She should have been able to kill me
easily," Tarrin mused to himself, remembering more images of the fight
between them. There was any number of places where she could have just put her
hand across his neck and slit his throat. She had the speed to do it. If
she'd been fighting the collar, it explained much. Why he was able to outmove
her, and do the things he was doing. She was distracted. His mother had said
many times, "in a fight, the man with his mind on two things usually ends
up with his mind in two places." Mother's sayings were usually graphic,
but they were very true.

Mother. How were his parents going to react to, to this?
He was fairly certain that, after the initial shock, that they would adjust to
it, even as he would. But it would be painful. His parents were intelligent,
open-minded people. But if they rejected him, he didn't know if he could live
through that.

He pushed it out of his mind for the moment. He wasn't
even ready to start dwelling on things like that yet. His mind was tickled by
something Dolanna has said, about the collar. About the Were-cat woman being
controlled. Then someone had to be controlling her, and they ordered her to
come up here and kill him.

"Who would go through all that trouble?" he
mused.

"Excuse me?" Dolanna asked.

"Why would they send that woman to kill me?"
he asked. "I'm not worth that much attention."

"It may not have been you," she said.
"Her target may have been someone else, and she simply came into your room
by mistake."

Tarrin looked at her, her smell filling his nose.
"I don't know," he said simply, leaning back against the headboard.
"If she can smell the same way I can, then if she knew my scent, she'd
know who to come after. But maybe not. I guess we'll never know."

She stood and stretched, then leaned over the bed and
put her hand on his cheek gently. "I must get used to those eyes,"
she said gently, "but in a way, looking like this, you are very handsome,
Tarrin," she told him. "Almost as if this was what you were always
meant to be."

"My eyes?"

"They are green," she said. "The same
color as the woman's. They are a cat's eyes, with the vertically slitted
pupils. They are very striking."

"Huh," he said in wonder.

"Well, you are hungry, and I need to sleep,"
she said. "I will bring you a meal and some books to read. For your own
safety, I do not advise you to leave this room. After the deaths of their
comrades, the castle's guards may not take kindly to you. You should take this
time to get familiar with yourself. Learn how to move your tail, for example.
I will have Faalken check in with you about once an hour, so that if you need
something, there will be someone about to see that you get it."

"Alright," he said.

After she left, Tarrin tentatively threw back the
covers, and looked down at himself. He was nude, and his tail was coming out
from under him. His tail wasn't very thick, more for ornament than use, and
covered with black fur. His legs looked mostly like they did, except they
looked more muscled, and of course they had the fur on them that started at a
ragged line just above his knees. He reached down and put his hand on the fur,
feeling that it was both soft and rather thick, but not very long. He reckoned
that from a distance it would almost look like black breeches. His feet were
similarly oversized, wider through the ball of his foot, almost like a paw,
with long, thick toes that were tipped with those nasty claws. There wasn't a
pair of shoes out there that would fit those feet. He sat up and pulled a leg
up, then grabbed the oversized foot in his hands and turned it so he could look
at the bottom. He was surprised at how easily his foot rotated like that, and
he saw that the bottom of his feet were covered with two thick pads, much like
his hands were. One was at the ball of his foot, and the other at the heel,
with smaller pads on the bottom of each toe. The claws on his feet were even
larger than the ones on his fingers.

Swinging his legs over the bed, he shakily stood up on
his new legs. He was very weak still from what had happened, but he could
actually feel the muscles shift and play under his skin as they worked
to put him on his feet. Despite the weakness, he realized at that moment that
he had every bit of the inhuman strength and power that the woman had. Despite
his weakness, he felt light as a feather, and it required almost no effort to
move his own weight. On standing, his tail seemed to come to life of its own
volition, and that was when he realized that it wasn't just for show. He
nearly overbalanced forwards, but his tail swished deeply behind him and
recentered himself on a stable balance. It began to move on its own, swishing
back and forth in a rhythmic motion, and it had to be the oddest sensation he'd
ever felt in his life. He almost instinctively stood only on the balls of his
feet, heels off the floor, understanding why they were so wide. Stability.
There was one other thing that got his attention, and that was the hair. His
hair was extremely long, falling well down his back, and very, very thick. It
was the same blond color it had been before. He wasn't used to the weight of
it, nor the way it swayed and swished whenever he moved. It was an extremely
disconcerting sensation.

He saw his clothes neatly folded at the foot of the
bed, and he sat down again and picked up his trousers. He saw that they'd been
modified, with a small hole in the back and a slit leading to it, with a pair
of buttons. Dolanna had already made clothing for him to take his tail into
account. He sat down and carefully put his leg inside, then curled his toes to
keep the claws from snagging. He repeated it with the other leg, then stood up
and buttoned them in the front. It wasn't easy, because his fingers were so
large now, but he somehow managed. The back buttons, however, were another
story. Tarrin managed to twist himself in such a way that he could actually
see behind himself; Tarrin had never been able to twist like that before, and
he realized that his entire back and spine were built differently than his
human one had been. He worked for a very long time to get the small buttons
through the holes, but the small things eluded even his best attempts.
Growling a bit in frustration, he popped out the claws on his hand and pinched
the little button between then, then managed to jam it through the slit. He
repeated the process with the other button, managing it on the fifth try.

She'd left him a white wool shirt, with laces at the
front, and long, wide sleeves. It was much easier to get into that, but the
laces were quite beyond him. These large hands had obvious drawbacks. They
were very dextrous, but their size made manipulating very small things
extremely difficult. He figured that he'd be able to do it with practice, but
he didn't much feel like fooling with it.

Dolanna opened the door, holding a tray so filled with
food that she had trouble holding it up. She gave him a cursory glance as she
entered the room, closing the door with a foot, and set the tray down. Tarrin
looked at her. Something was....wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on
it, either. She looked the same as she always had, but somehow, she didn't.
As she got closer, he had to look down at her more and more, and then he
understood. She was shorter.

That meant that he had to be taller.

He looked up at the ceiling. If this ceiling was the
same height as the one in the other room, then he was taller. It was
noticably lower than it had been.

"Is it just me, or are you shorter?" he asked
her.

"You grew by half a span," she told him
simply. "As if you were not tall enough. You are taller than most
Ungardt now." She opened the door again and picked something up off the
floor, and then came back in. They were books. "How does it feel?"

"Strange," he said, looking down at himself.
"But in a way, it doesn't. It's like it's always been like this."

"Those are your instincts," she told him.
"Do not ignore them, Tarrin. They may try to guide your actions, but they
also will give you important information. You must learn to listen to them
without letting them control you. It is a balance you must strike within
yourself, a balance between man and animal, with the man guiding."

He nodded. There was no way he could ignore something
that just came to him unbidden. But, as she said, he couldn't let it control
what he did.

"Faalken will be along in a while," she told
him. "He told me that he thought you would not mind company, so he is
bringing a stones board."

"Go ahead and eat, and Faalken should be
along," she said. "He is going to the city market to buy something,
and will come visit you when he returns. That should give you time to eat in
peace."

"Alright." He reached out and took Dolanna's
hand gently, feeling how warm her skin was, and how fragile that she seemed to
be. "Dolanna, I want to thank you," he said. "I know you
couldn't have stopped it, but at least you've given me a chance. Thank
you."

"Oh, dear one," she sighed, giving him a
smile, "it is I who should thank you. I cannot help feeling responsible
for this. And I want you to know, that if you never need anything, anything at
all, I will always be about to help you. It is the least I can do for you
after bringing you here, where this could happen."

"Would, would you send a letter to my
parents?" he asked. "They need to know about this."

"I already have," she told him. "They
should have it by now. I made sure to tell them not to come, Tarrin. I felt
that you would need time to grow accustomed to it before you could face
them."

"Thank you," he said, because she was right.
If he saw his mother right now, looking like he did, and she rejected him, it
would destroy him. Better to face it himself than run the risk of that.

"I will return after I have rested, bathed, and
eaten," she told him. "Then we will talk of what is to come."

"Eating is a good idea," Tarrin said, the
wonderfully sharp smells of the tray drawing his attention to it.

"Enjoy," she told him, leaving.

Tarrin never knew food could taste that way.
Everything seemed fifty times what it had been before, and he found that the
tastes of some foods had changed somewhat. Mutton had always been bland to
him, but now it had a texture and a subtle flavor that he enjoyed immensely.
The tray was filled with dishes of meat, and nothing else, with a mug of plain
water. There was mutton, pork, beef, venison, rabbit, and even goose and
chicken. He found that they all had tastes related to their scents, so much so
that the taste of it was the base of the scent it gave off. He figured that if
he didn't like the smell of something, odds were that he wouldn't like the
taste of it either. He sampled each of them, testing the new taste of it and
comparing it to what he remembered, then he attacked the entire tray and
devoured it. When he was done, he marvelled that he was capable of eating so
much. But he was wonderfully full, and the contentment of that simple
condition amazed him. No doubt that it stemmed from the instincts that were
inside his mind now.

It was all so strange. By all rights, he should be
having a complete panic attack. But he was not. It was as if the instincts in
his mind had forced him to accept the change that had been wrought on him. Yes,
he was upset, and very frightened about what had happened to him, but even now
it felt...right. Just as Dolanna said, he felt as if this was the way that he
was supposed to be, that he had been incomplete before this. It was probably
the instincts doing it to him...and in a way, he was glad of that. At least
this feeling of normalcy was somewhat comforting.

He stood at the window, looking down into the
courtyard, wondering if he'd have the courage to walk across it. It was
painfully obvious that he didn't belong in the human world anymore. In a place
like Aldreth, things were different. The proximity to the Frontier made the
villagers receptive to non-humans. But this wasn't Aldreth. This was Torrian,
where non-humans walking down the street were quite an event. They would
either ignore him, stare at him, or run from him. There were non-humans in
port cities, the sea-faring animal people, the Wikuni, but Torrian was far from
the sea. Maybe in Suld, where there were many Wikuni, he would be able to walk
down the street. But here, he wasn't so sure.

The door opened. Tarrin looked over his shoulder, and
saw Faalken coming into the room. Faalken's rough, outdoor-like scent touched
Tarrin's nose, and he filed it away in his mind for future reference. Faalken
had a stones board in his hands, as well as a couple of mugs and a leather
pouch.

"You look, impressive," Faalken told him.

Tarrin looked down at his hand, flexing out the claws
and watching in mused wonder. "Something like that," he replied
quietly. "I'm getting used to it, though."

"How does it feel?"

"I can't describe it, Faalken. There are sounds
and smells and sights I see and hear and smell, that I just can't describe.
You have milk and ale in those mugs," he told him. "I think you were
either in a rush or working out. You've been sweating, and your heart's still
a bit fast. And you were eating a meat pie."

Faalken blinked, then chuckled ruefully. "Right
on all counts," he admitted. "I think I understand what you mean
then. Feel better?" he asked as he put the stones board on the small
table.

"Much," he replied. "Just eating did
wonders."

"Did Dolanna tell you what's happened? With the
other one and all?"

Tarrin nodded.

"Well, as soon as she's sure you're alright, we'll
be moving out," he said. "Dolanna wants to get you to the Tower
immediately. If there are any side effects or complications over what happened
to you, there isn't a better place to be."

"She didn't tell me that," he said.

"She probably didn't want to worry you," he
said, sitting down and pushing the mug of milk towards him. Then he opened the
pouch and poured the stones out onto the board. "She probably want you to
only think of one thing at a time. I can't argue with it, but I prefer a more
direct method of doing things. You want white or black?"

"I'll take black," he said as he moved away
from the window. He looked at the chair a moment, then managed to figure out
how to sit down in it without pinching his tail behind him. He did it by
turning the chair around and straddling it, crossing his arms over the back,
which was now in front of him.

"Kind of hard, isn't it?" he asked.

"Sorta," he said. "So far, all the
tail's done is move by itself. I can't figure it out."

"Practice," Faalken shrugged. "It'll
give you something to do while you're waiting for me to lose."

"I'll do that," he promised.

Faalken was a good stones player, so there was a
considerable amount of time between moves. Tarrin took that time looking back
at his tail when he wasn't studying the board, sensing what he felt when it
moved, what he felt when he touched it, and how it felt as it moved through the
air. He took all these sensations and started picking through them, until he
thought he had a good idea of where the muscles were, which ones were which,
and what he had to do to get some reaction out of it. Reaction that wasn't
reflexive, anyway. He sucked in his breath and tried to make it stop moving.

And got nothing for his trouble.

Furrowing his brow, he tried again, but still there was
nothing.

He decided that he was going at this the wrong way.
Instead of making it stop, he decided to make it move the way he wanted it to.
He watched it sway back and forth of its own volition, studying what he was
feeling in combination with what he was seeing. "Your move, Tarrin,"
Faalken prompted. Tarrin turned around and studied the board for a few
minutes, and placed a stone on the board, then went back to watching his tail.
After a few more minutes, he thought he had it. Instead of making it stop,
Tarrin tried to make it stick straight out.

And it did.

He was a bit amazed. Straight, his tail was longer
than his leg, over half the length of his body, nearly three quarters of it. A
good span of it would drag the ground if it went limp. When it was moving, and
looped and curled, it didn't look that long. Tarrin tried something else,
bringing his tail around his body. It didn't move smoothly, but it did manage
to curl around his side. It was very flexible, he noticed. It kept wanting to
go back to what it was doing, and that made it hard to keep control of it.

"Having fun?" Faalken asked.

"This isn't easy," Tarrin told him. "It
has a mind of its own." Tarrin let it slide up his side, feeling the fur
slide by even as the tail felt his shirt ghost by, then slipped it over his
shoulder and wrapped the good span of extra tail around his neck. The tip just
made it past the edge of his other shoulder. He wondered how strong it was.
If it had the same inhuman strength he did, then it would actually be a rather
formidable surprise. It may even support his weight.

"Not bad," the knight said. "Your
move."

Tarrin put a stone down on the board. "I was
wondering how that creature got up to your room," Faalken said.

"With these," Tarrin replied, showing Faalken
his claws. "As strong as she was, she could have driven the tips into the
stone and climbed up that way. I think I could do it."

"Probably," he said, "but are you sure
she was that strong?"

"Faalken, she threw me across the room with one
arm," Tarrin told him. "She was strong enough."

"Are you sure that happened?"

"Would you like a demonstration?" Tarrin
asked him testily.

"As a matter of fact, I would," he said,
standing up. "I'm curious about this, and it'll give you the chance to
come to understand yourself a little better."

Tarrin stood up, got in front of the shorter, stocky
man, grabbed him by the upper edge of his breastplate, and hauled him into the
air. Tarrin held him at arm's length up and out, letting Faalken's feet dangle
well off the floor. Tarrin looked up at him calmly as Faalken's eyes bulged a
bit, and he grabbed Tarrin's wrist with both hands reflexively. "And this
isn't even much of a strain," Tarrin told him. "I can throw you, if
you'd like."

"I get the idea," Faalken said, a bit weakly.

Tarrin set him down on his feet gently, then Faalken
grinned at him.

Tarrin gave him a look. "You did that on
purpose," he accused.

"Yes," he said. "Dolanna told me about
you, about what the change did to you. I wanted to see if you were aware of it
yourself. Now then, it's my move."

They played five more games in relative silence, with
occasional idle chatter, and Tarrin practicing with his tail, and then with
voluntarily moving his ears. The ears were easier and harder at the same time;
it didn't take him long to figure out how to move them, but they instantly
moved towards any sound on their own. They'd often take off on him in the
middle of an attempt to move them, when Faalken made a sound. Tarrin couldn't
have had anything better. It was a sense of normalcy to him, and the burly
knight did everything he could to make Tarrin feel at ease. He never stared,
never blinked, never flinched, even when Tarrin accidentally touched him. What
Faalken couldn't understand was that the instincts in Tarrin's mind had forced
the acceptance of the change onto him, that, despite it only being hours since
he'd awoke to discover himself altered, he had already come to accept it as a
new part of his life. Not to be pined over and fretted about, but to be
learned and overcome. He was still determined to go to the Tower, to go on
with his life. This just changed things. He doubted that he could get into
the army like this, but he was sure that he could find something to do,
something where this would make very little difference. There was so
much of his life that was now thrown up in the air. And this afternoon of
playing stones made everything seem like it would work itself out.

There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?"
Faalken called. Tarrin didn't know who it was either; the faint scent coming
under the door wasn't Dolanna, and hers was the only other man-scent he knew.

"It's Arren," came the reply.

"My Duke, come in," Faalken said, a bit
nervously.

The door opened, and the middle-aged Duke Arren entered
the room. He was dressed in a black doublet and hose, the doublet with silver
thread embroidered into the shape of a hawk on the front. His eyes were a bit
tired, and he just waved them off when both of them moved to rise in his
presence. "There's no need for any of that," he said. "Tarrin,
I'd like to apologize--"

"My Lord, there's nothing you could have
done," he cut him off. "Nothing you could have done would have
stopped her, even if you knew she was coming. There's no blame to be taken.
I'm not dead, you know. I'll learn to deal with this."

"I'd have to agree with you," he said,
pulling the third chair over to the table and sitting down. "She killed
twelve men escaping from the cells. Twelve men, and two of them were the best
fighters I had."

"They had no idea what they were dealing with, my
Lord," Tarrin said. "The only reason I survived was pure, sheer
luck. And Dolanna." He looked at his hands. "I rather prefer
living like this to being dead, so if this is price I pay to keep living, then
so be it."

"You're rather calm about this," Arren said.

"I don't have time to run around screaming in
apoplexy," Tarrin said dryly. "I have better things to do."

"He's part Ungardt, Duke Arren," Faalken
reminded him.

"Ah, yes, that famous Ungardt no-nonsense
stoicism," he mused. "If it were me, I would be running
around screaming," he admitted.

"No," Tarrin said quietly, "you
wouldn't. It's hard to explain, but part of it makes you accept it.
I've only been like this for a few days, and only one of those awake, but it's
like I've been like this all my life," he said quietly. "I do have
trouble making these new parts move, but they feel like they've always been
there. This feels....right to me. If I were turned back to a human, I'd feel
like, like I lost a part of myself."

Arren looked at him soberly. "An intriguing side
effect," he mused.

Dolanna's scent touched him just as he heard her
voice. "The Tower will want to study him," she said from the
doorway. She'd bathed, and was wearing a clean dress. The dark circles under
her eyes were gone, and she moved with that familiar crisp precision that he
knew her to have. "But on the other hand, he will have a chance there to
better learn how control his animal half. It is a controlled environment,
where the stimulus that could make him lose control can be contained and
separated from him."

"Dolanna," Arren and Tarrin said together.
"How do you feel?" Tarrin added.

"I feel rested," she replied. "How do
you feel, young one?"

"Refreshed," he replied. "Strong. The
meal did wonders for me."

"I rather thought that it would," she told
him, taking his hand as he stood. Her small hand was swallowed up in his huge
hand-paw. She turned his hand over and touched the back of it with her other
hand, feeling the short, silky black fur that covered it. "How does it
feel?" she asked.

"It feels...like this is the way I'm supposed to
be," he told her soberly.

"That is very good," she told him
confidently. "The harder you fight against it, the harder it is to
control it. Part of the key to controlling it is to allow it to try to guide
you, but not to control you. There is a delicate balance in that, and that is
what you will have to learn."

"If I ignore it, it starts to scream at me?"
he asked.

"Precisely," she said with a smile.
"You do not want it to do that." She looked at them all. "We
will be leaving tomorrow at dawn," she said. "Tarrin, I have had all
of your clothes altered so that you can wear them."

"Uh, Dolanna, what am I going to do?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, am I riding a horse?"

"I would imagine so," she replied. "You
must face the public at some point, Tarrin. You cannot live your life in this
room. It is best to get it over and done with at the outset, so that it is not
a fear that nags at you."

"I guess," he sighed, staring at his hand.

"Let's take it a step further," Arren said.
"Tarrin, you will dine with us tonight," he ordered. "I've told
my people what happened to you. Let's put you out where you can see that
people aren't going to scream in panic. They may stare, but that's about
all."

"A good idea," Dolanna agreed.

"What time is it now?" Tarrin asked.

"Nearly sunset," Faalken replied.

"We'll be dining in about an hour," Arren
told him.

"I guess, my Lord," Tarrin said dubiously.

"Well, we have time for one more game of
stones," Faalken urged.

"Then we'll leave you to that," Arren said.
"Come, Dolanna, you and I have some catching up to do."

"Indeed. I will send a handservant to fetch you
at dinnertime," Dolanna told them, and the pair exited as Tarrin and
Faalken bowed.

They sat back down and started a new game, but Tarrin's
mind wasn't much in it. The idea of going into a public place was admittedly
frightening, but on the other hand, it was necessary. Like Dolanna had said,
he wouldn't be living in this room his entire life. He'd thought to himself
that he was going to have to learn how to live with this startling new
change...well, going to eat in the main hall would certainly qualify as
learning. He wondered if he and Dolanna were rushing things a bit, but on the
other hand, considering what had happened, maybe they weren't going fast
enough. The only way for Tarrin to learn, learn how people would react, learn
about himself, was to do. And sitting in the room didn't teach him much.
Still, the concept of it was frightening. He couldn't shake the vision of a
gang of men suddenly turning on him with swords, calling him a monster. He knew
that it wouldn't happen, couldn't happen, but the thought was there
nonetheless, and nagging fears were rarely rational or logical.

It was both with anxiety and anticipation that he stood
when there was a knock at the door. A slim, pretty young girl with dark hair
opened the door. She gave a slight start when she saw him, but her expression
remained open and cordial. "My Lords, Duke Arren is calling all to
dine," she announced.

"I was losing anyway," Faalken said sourly,
standing up. "We'll be along in a moment," he told her.

"I will inform his Grace," she said with a
little bob of a curtsy, then she departed.

"Dolanna doesn't take no for an answer, does
she?" Tarrin asked sagely, noting her comment to report their status to
the Duke.

"I've yet to see her do it," Faalken grunted,
putting his sword belt back on. "Let's go eat."

Tarrin stepped out into the hall with trepidation. The
smells outside were all man, criss-crossing each other maddeningly along the
corridors to such an extent that the individual scents blurred into a musky,
slightly unpleasant miasma. The smells of food were in the air as well, faint
but present. The candles in sconces on the walls seemed bright to his eyes,
and he could hear the faint steps of people all around. Faalken stepped out
into the hall behind him and closed the door. "That way," he
pointed, and they started out.

About halfway down the hall, a scent unlike anything
Tarrin ever smelled touched his nose. It was so striking in its utter perverse
nature. Where most people gave off the smell of life, this smell was the smell
of death. Of evil. Tarrin had no idea how he knew that, but he did.
He felt his ears lay back on his head, and he instantly assumed a wide-footed
stance. In that instant, he got his first taste of the animal within him. At
the smell of that evil, it reared up in his mind and flooded his
consciousness with impressions and urges to seek out the source of it and
destroy it. It was unnatural, the scent, otherworldly, the antithesis of everything
that was gentle and good, against life itself. As a creature of nature, tied
to it with mystical bonds that transcended human comprehension, the existence
of the evil was an abomination, and it had to be destroyed.

Tarrin put a hand to his head, trying to clear away the
homicidal impulses, but it was far from easy. He did what Dolanna said,
listening to them but not letting them control him, and not ignoring them.

"What's wrong?" Faalken asked. "Are you
alright?"

"There's something here," he said in a low,
growling voice, still fighting to keep from charging off and killing whatever
it was. "Something evil."

"Evil? How--"

"I can smell it," he said in a low voice. He
looked down the hallway, into the shadows near the stairs, and he noticed that
the shadows were a bit too dark. Had he not had eyes so sensitive to
light, he would never have noticed the discrepancy. At that instant, the
instincts howled in his mind, and he barely supressed the notion to charge.
"It's up ahead, in the shadows past the stairwell."

"I don't see anything," Faalken said back.

Tarrin grabbed a candle off the wall in an innocuous
move, then suddenly hurled it ahead with terrific force. The candle passed
directly through those shadows, and they seemed to swirl around the speeding
candle as it passed through, like smoke, rippling and reverberating in a
blatantly visible pattern.

"Shadows don't do that," Faalken said flatly,
drawing his sword.

But the swirling shadow simply vanished without a
sound, and the death-stench evaporated like mist. Tarrin looked around in
confusion, hardly believing what his nose was telling him. "It's
gone," he said in surprise.

"Can you still smell it?"

"No, when it disappeared, the smell just
disappeared too," he told him.

"Let's go tell Dolanna about this," he said,
ramming his sword home in its scabbard.

Tarrin's nervousness about going into public was
banished by this new feeling of anxious fear. If it could appear as quickly as
it disappeared, it could be on them before either could blink if it appeared
close enough. Tarrin kept every sense open and scanning, looking for any
trace, smelling for the faintest whiff, anything, that would give them a
split-second's warning. He was so wrapped up in it that he stopped in surprise
when they entered the main hall.

The hall was a grand affair, over one hundred paces
long and about seventy-five paces wide. The floor was filled with table, and
those tables were occupied. The smell of it almost bowled him over as a tidal
wave of scents stacked one on another assaulted his nose. The murmuring roar
of the more than hundred people in the hall confused his ears, and the torches
and candles burning in the room gave off myriad shadows that tried to draw away
his eyes. Numerous dogs prowled around the tables and among the rushes,
sometimes fighting among themselves for the largest scraps thrown from the
tables. The general din quieted significantly as the people became aware of
him, staring at him and whispering among themselves.

Much to his surprise, he stood up tall and straight and
stared back at them until they all looked away.

He had no idea where that came from. Perhaps that too
was the instincts, the Cat, at work.

He pondered at it while Faalken led him across the
room, the eyes of the hall following him as discreetly as they could manage.
He was vaguely aware of the song in his mind, the murmuring sounds that
represented the Cat, aware that it was growing stronger inside him. He hadn't
realized that it could be so strong so fast; Dolanna had said that she had
contained it, dulled its power so that Tarrin would have a chance to get used
to it gradually. If it was this strong now, he shuddered to think of how
strong it would be when it was contained no longer. But there was no failure
in this struggle. Dolanna had already warned him that if he failed to control
the Cat, it would drive him mad. And some part of himself knew it too.

They reached the Duke's table, on the raised dais at
the end of the hall where his ruling seat usually stood. There were seven
people seated at the table. Arren, Dolanna, Walten, Tiella, and three other
people that Tarrin didn't know. Two of them were middle aged men much the same
age as Arren, one wiry and thin and the other with the same wide-shouldered
stockiness that said he was used to wearing armor. The other person was a
woman. She was rather young, with sharp, strong features, more handsome than
she was pretty. Her hair was a chestnut brown, and she was wearing a rather
elegant gown. Arren stood and welcomed them in a loud, calm voice, then
offered them seats at his table. Tarrin watched Tiella and Walten carefully
for a moment, watching them gape at the change in him. But, to their credit,
neither of them flinched or looked away. Tiella even smiled slightly.

Tarrin leaned in close to Dolanna as he passed her
seat. "We have to talk. Now," he told her in a hushed voice.

She gave him a calm, curious look, then looked at
Faalken, who nodded quickly and slightly. Dolanna stood and gave Arren a warm
smile. "I have need to speak with the young one a moment, my Duke,"
she told him. "If you will excuse us?"

"Certainly," he said with curiosity tinging
his voice.

Tarrin led Dolanna over to the corner of the grand
hall, then turned to face her with his back to the wall. Faalken joined them
quickly. "Dolanna, I saw something up in the hallway. It was something
like a living shadow. If it didn't smell the way it did, I may not have seen
it."

"Smelled? How did it smell?"

"Evil," he told her. "Death, decay,
hatred, but it was evil," he said with a shudder.

"A shadow, you say?"

"Aye," Faalken told her. "Tarrin threw
a candle at it, and its body looked like it was made of liquid shadow."

"A Wraith!" she gasped. "What would a
Wraith be doing here?"

"What is a Wraith?" Tarrin asked.

"It is a creature summoned from the Lower
World," she told him. "It is the spirit of a man who had done great
evil in his life. They are not free, they must obey the orders and commands of
the Wizard who summoned them. It was not here by chance."

"Then why was it here?" Faalken wondered.

"That I cannot tell you, but the fact that it was
here does not bode well. It may have been sent to kill someone, or merely to
spy. Their shadow-like bodies make them excellent spies. Arren must know of
this immediately. That creature may be eyes for a hostile force."

"Dolanna, if it was eyes for a hostile force, it
wouldn't have been sitting at the end of a closed hallway," Faalken told
her. "If it was there to spy, it was looking for a specific person that
walked along that hallway."

They both looked at Tarrin.

"Possibly," she answered the unspoken
question. "If the Were-cat was sent to kill him, it may have been
checking to see if she was successful."

"And now it knows that she failed."

"Why would that matter?" Tarrin asked.
"I'm a nobody. Why would they be watching me?"

"I do not know," she said. "And that is
not a good thing. Somebody outside is acting on information I do not have. If
that is it at all. It may have had an entirely different mission in
mind." She pursed her lips. "But it is best to assume the worst, so
that is what we will do. We cannot leave now. Night is the time of the
Wraith. They cannot exist in open sunlight, so we will leave in the morning,
when their eyes cannot follow and the summoner must rely on another means of
scrying us. In the meantime, everyone will move into an apartment with only
one entrance and as few windows as possible."

"But what about the dinner?" Faalken asked.

"As of right now, it is of no moment." She
stepped slightly away from Tarrin. All three of them looked towards the raised
table, and it was only seconds before Arren looked in their direction. Dolanna
made a discreet gesture for him to join them, and he immediately stood up.

"Something's wrong," he said soberly as he
joined them.

"Tarrin and Faalken found a Wraith in the
passageway outside his door," she told him bluntly.

"A Wraith, eh?" Arren said grimly.
"That's not a good sign."

"We do not know why it was here, but we are going
to assume that it is part of what happened to Tarrin. We will leave at dawn
tomorrow."

"Good," he interrupted. "If there's a
Wraith after you, you sure as light don't go outside in the dark."

"Yes," she agreed. "Until then, I am
putting our group out of eyesight. I need from you an apartment, with two or
three goodly sized rooms, with only one door opening out to the keep. And with
as few windows as you can manage."

"I have something like that," he said.
"It's a guest apartment, with a bedroom, a room for a maid, and a sitting
room. It only has two windows, one in each bedroom, and a single door to the
hallway."

"That will do," she told him. "Tarrin,
go to Walten and Tiella and have them come here."

"Yes ma'am," he said immediately, then he
left the trio and walked over to the table.

Tarrin's change was the last thing on his mind.
"Dolanna wants to talk to us, now," he told them. "Come
on."

Walten looked at the food on his plate and sighed, then
he stood up.

"Tiella, Walten," Dolanna said immediately
when they joined her, "I want you to go to your rooms with Tarrin and
gather up your belongings. Do not leave each other. Visit each room in turn.
When you have everything, go to the landing of the stairwell on the fourth
level and await us. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Walten said, and Tiella nodded.

"Arren, please have servants take up enough food
for seven people," Dolanna went on as Tarrin left with his companions.
"Include plenty of meat."

"Tarrin, what's going on?" Tiella asked after
they left the hall. Tarrin noted that both of them stayed rather close to him,
but not too close. They were trying to be as casual about his change as
they could, but Tarrin could smell the tension in both of them. They were
afraid of him. Probably with good reason, he concluded with a slight sigh. He
was afraid of himself.

"We saw something upstairs, called a Wraith,"
he told them. "Dolanna thinks it may be watching us, so we're going to
all stay in the same place tonight, so she can keep watch over us, I
think."

"Wraith?" Walten said. "Jak told me a
story about those. They're supposed to be living shadows, and their touch is
like the cold of the grave."

"We didn't get close enough to touch it,"
Tarrin said as they started up the stairs. "Dolanna thinks it may have
something to do with--with the one that attacked me," he said after a
second of inability to say it. He still couldn't.

They went to Tiella's room first, and with the help of
the two young men, they were on their way to Walten's room in minutes.
Walten's room was even faster. They went up to the same corridor where Tarrin
had seen the Wraith, and he couldn't help but make sure it was gone as they
rushed into his room and he collected up everything of his that he could find.
But most of his belongings were missing, especially his staff and his bow. He
didn't recall seeing them earlier, either. They left his room quickly and went
to the stair landing that Dolanna had said to go to, and there they waited for
many tense moments.

Tiella looked at Tarrin covertly after they stopped,
then she blushed when he looked at her. "I'm sorry, Tarrin, I can't help
it," she said shyly.

"I guess I can't blame you," he said
gruffly. "I'd stare too."

"What does it feel like?" Walten asked.

"It's hard to explain," he replied.
"More like I'd had on blinders and my ears covered and my nose pinched
shut all my life. The tail is still pretty weird to me, but I'm getting used
to it." He looked back at the member, which was swishing to and fro with
a slow rhythm. Did you go into the city?" he asked.

"No," Tiella replied. "After you were
hurt, Dolanna wanted us to stay close. Torrian isn't that big, anyway. She
said that we're going through Marta's Ford, Ultern, and Jerinhold. Then we get
to Suld itself," she said eagerly.

"I thought you were still nervous about leaving
Aldreth," Walten said accusingly.

"I want to see the cities," she told him.

"I just want to get out of Aldreth," Walten
grunted.

Dolanna and Faalken came up the stairs seconds later,
with several servants behind them. To his relief, Tarrin saw his packs and his
weapons in the hands of three of them, and he could smell roasted meat under
the domes of the platters that the serving women carried. "Do you have
everything?" Dolanna asked. "If not, then it will be left
behind."

"We got everything, Dolanna," Tiella replied.

"Good. Follow us."

They were led to a small apartment, with three rooms.
There was a smallish sitting room into which the door opened, and there were
two bedrooms attached to it. They put down their packs as the serving staff
carried the other things into the room, and Arren appeared at the door.
"Dolanna," he called.

"Arren," she said, "if you would, post
guards at the door, but warn them that they will not, under any circumstances,
open the door. It could mean their lives."

"I'll warn them," he said grimly.

"Young ones, listen carefully," Dolanna said
as she closed the door after the last servant. "I want you to stand in
the middle of this room with Faalken. Do not say a word, and to not move until
I tell you that it is alright."

Faalken ushered them into the middle of the sitting room,
standing beside a plush upholstered chair that was flanking a sofa. When they
were there, Dolanna turned around and bowed her head. Tarrin could feel what
was happening. There was again that sensation of drawing in, into
Dolanna, and for a second he could almost see something around him move. She
stayed still for several moments, until the outside walls, ceiling, and floor
suddenly seemed to shimmer. But just for a moment. Dolanna sighed audibly and
slumped a bit, then turned around and faced them. "Do not open the door,
for any reason, unless I tell you that it is alright," she warned.
"Do not get too close to the windows. Do not even get close enough to
touch the window sill." She put a hand to her brow. "Now then, I am
going to rest a while. There is food over there, and I have some books in the
smaller pack if you would like to read."

Tarrin and Faalken sat down at the small table in the
corner and began eating dinner as Walten and Tiella used the stones board that
was on it to play a game. "What did she do?" Tarrin asked Faalken.

"She laid a ward on these rooms," he
replied. "It's very exhausting."

"What is a ward?"

"It's like a barrier," he told him. "I
don't know how she made this one, but I've seen ones that stop magic, ones that
keep people from crossing them, even ones that stopped stone from passing over
a boundary. They can be made lots of different ways. You'll have to ask her
for specifics, though."

He nodded, resolving to do just that.

After eating, Faalken stood up and looked at the
three. "We'll be getting an early start, so I suggest we go to bed now.
Tiella, go sleep in Dolanna's chamber. Walten, you and Tarrin sleep in the
other room. I'll sleep in here."

They separated quickly, wordlessly. The next room was
a small bedchamber, with the bed, a small armoire, and three small tables.
There was only one bed.

"You sleep on the bed," Tarrin told him. He
knew that Walten would not want to sleep in the same bed with him. To be
honest, he didn't want to either. Not until he trusted himself. "I'll
sleep over there. Let me go get my bedroll."

Tarrin recovered his bedroll, and Walten was already in
bed by the time he got back. "Go ahead and put out the light,"
Tarrin told him. "I think I can manage."

"Alright. Night, Tarrin."

"Night."

As soon as the lamp was out, Tarrin got the most
blatant sign of his change, for after a moment of grayed vision, the entire
room bloomed into light as his eyes adapted to the darkness. Just the light of
the Skybands through the window, patchy from clouds, was enough to paint the
room to his eyes in bright shades of black, white, and gray. He realized that
he couldn't see color with such little light, but the fact that he could make
out every detail of the room made up for that. He put out the bedroll in the
corner, near the window, and sat down upon it, feeling his tail come to rest
against the floor, and stared out at the room, wondering at how sharp and clear
his vision was, musing at seeing only in black and white. Just like a cat, he
could see in just about any light except total darkness.

In the room, alone, in the dark, Tarrin felt the Cat
inside his mind, and for the first time all day, for the first time since
waking up, he felt fear. They had kept him busy most of the day, keeping his
mind off of it. But there was nothing but time now, time waiting for the dawn,
time for nothing but cold reality to come down on him. It was in there,
staring back at him, and he could feel its power. The power of a caged
animal. The song in his mind grew more powerful now that he was listening to
it, and it took active concentration not to succumb to it, to do as it urged
him to do. He had no one to talk to, nothing to do in order to distract
himself from it, and that made it prominent in his mind. And that proximity to
something that seemed so strange to him began to make him afraid.

It was as if the whole room changed. The bright
black-and-white room seemed to become ominous, and he found the colorless,
shaded vista before him to be suddenly frightening. It was alien to
him, and the wonder he'd felt when first beholding it drained away, replaced by
trepidation and anxiety. For some unknown reason, he backed up on the mat,
backing up until his back was to the wall. But there was no getting away from
that which made him afraid. It was inside him, part of him, staring back at
him, trying to take control of him. There was nowhere he could go to hide from
it, no way to make it leave him alone. It was there and would always be there,
and that simple fact terrified Tarrin. Because it was already so strong in his
mind, and he was told, and knew in his heart, that it would only grow stronger.

He pushed back into the corner, feeling his tail kink a
bit from the pressure. He brought it around him and wrapped it across his
ankles, drew his knees up to his chest, hugged his waist with his arms, and put
his head back against the corner. With the song of the Cat disrupting his
thoughts, he stayed curled up in the corner, huddled from something that could
not be hidden from, trying in vain to push it out of his mind, to find enough
peace to sleep.

Chapter
4

It had been the longest night Tarrin had ever had.

It was an eternity there, alone, in the dark, with
nothing between him and the Cat but his willpower. Time had seemed to stop,
and he had felt every second go by. He spent the night jumping at every little
noise, huddled in that corner like a trapped mouse, so desperately wanting to
talk to someone that he very nearly went to wake them up. But that would be
giving in, and he knew that he had to learn how to fight it now, quickly,
before it had the chance to overwhelm him. There wouldn't always be someone to
talk to.

He'd finally managed to fall asleep sometime during the
night, but it was no relief. As soon as he fell into slumber, he would have
dreams. Terrifying dreams, vivid dreams, conveying a message and a set of
sensations so base, so raw, so animalistic that even the surrealistic touch of
the dream was enough to make him sit bolt upright and start a cold sweat. And
the instant he awoke, the song of the Cat would be there, trying to lull him
into complacency. He was glad of such an uncomfortable position, since it made
it so easy for him to be awakened out of the dreams. The song of the Cat was
much preferable to facing the dreams. He could fight the song, but the dreams,
he had no defense against them. They touched him on a level that the song
could not, and he could do nothing but wake up once they started. He was
amazed that Walten had slept through it.

He'd been having one of those dreams, then was shocked
awake by a combination of the dream and a sound in the next room. He'd never
been so glad to hear a sound in his life. When he joined Faalken in the other
room, neither of them said much of anything. Faalken could see just by looking
at Tarrin's haggard face that it had been an easy night. The burly knight
simply offered him a cup of water and let him sit quietly at the table.
Faalken gently rapped at Dolanna's door, then sat down at the table with him.

Dolanna opened the door a few minutes later, stepping
out wearing a simple brown silk dress. With one look, she seemed to take in
the entire situation. She sat down in the chair to his right and put a cool
hand to his forehead. "I can understand what it was like," she told
him. "But it was necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"You had to be alone," she told him with
compassion in her voice. "It may seem cruel to you, but you will end up
alone at some point in your life. It was best for it to be now, while my spell
holds the animal inside you in check."

He could understand her reasoning. Although it did
seem a bit cold-blooded. She'd left him to face his fear alone, and while the
logical part of his mind understood her reasoning, part of him was rather
slighted by the callous treatment. He'd respected her before, but in a strange
way, he realized that he absolutely depended on Dolanna now. Her calm demeanor
and seemingly intuitive understanding of what he was going through gave him a
source of strength from which to draw support.

"How do you know so much about what happened to
me?" he asked impulsively.

"I, have studied this condition before. There are
other Were-kin out there," she told him. "Were-wolves, Were-boars,
Were-lions, Were-foxes, Were-bears, and many others that are more rare. Like
Were-wolverines, Were-dogs, Were-rats, and your own kin, the Were-cats. I once
studied the progression of the condition, which is called Lycanthropy, in an
infected man who had been bitten by a Were-wolf. It was much different in his
case, but I have seen enough parallels to understand in a general way what is
happening to you."

"What causes it?" Tarrin asked. "Is it
a disease?"

"No, young one, it is not," she told him
gently. "The Were-kin are creatures of magic, Tarrin. There is a natural
magic inside of you now that is linked to the cat. While it may not seem like
much, it is this magical nature that gives you many of your powers, and it is
also what makes you immune to the wounds of non-magical weapons, or ones not
made of silver. The only non-magical things that can harm you are falls from
heights, fire, and acid."

"Powers?" Tarrin asked.

"Were-kin can change their shape," she told
him. "They can assume the form of the animal to which they are bonded.
But I do recall hearing or reading that the Were-cats are different than the
other Were-kin in that respect. There is something limited to you or makes you
different than other Were-kin, so I will not even attempt to try to teach you
to shapeshift until I am certain of what that difference is. The fact that
your base, natural form, the one into which you transformed at the onset of the
bite, was not a fully human form lends me to believe that it is a limitation
more than a difference."

Tarrin swallowed that. Shapeshifting?

"There are other powers," she told him.
"Inhuman strength like yours is a gift of your magical nature. And if I
remember, you can regenerate wounds received from magic, falls, acid, and fire
at an accelerated rate, and that you can even regenerate lost limbs. Only the
injuries made from silver counter the magic that gives you power.

"But I digress. It is this inherent magic that
causes the condition, Tarrin. The only thing missing from a human is that
magical touch, that essense of magical energy and animal instincts. That is
what is passed on through contact with body fluids. Once it is introduced into
a human, he becomes a Were-creature of the same type that passed it to him. He
gains all of the powers and vulnerabilities of the Were-kin, and he is Were in
every aspect. He is as much Were as the one who bit him; there is no
difference between a Were-kin who was born into it and one who was
bitten."

"What would happen if that magic was taken
away?" he asked.

"Nothing could take it away," she told him.
"It is infused into every fiber of your being, and it is now as integral
and necessary as your blood, or heart, or bones. If it truly was removed from
you, you would die."

"I've heard stories about Were-wolves,"
Tarrin said thoughtfully. "They all say that they change into beasts at
the full moon, but father always scoffed at them. He said he'd met one or two
in his life, and they were nothing like that."

"He is correct. Were-wolves are urbane, polite
fellows with a highly defined sense of propriety. Being part animal, Tarrin,
Were-creatures tend to act much as their animal counterparts act, just in a human
way. Were-rats are rapacious, greedy, and unreliable. Were-bears are
methodical and careful, and Were-wolves are very organized and
structured."

"What about, the Were-cats?" he forced
himself to say the word.

"There is very little written or known about
them," she said, pursing her lips. "They are the rarest of all the
Were-kin, and I have never heard of a Sorcerer or scholar finding one to learn
about them. The other Were-kin hold a rather low opinion of them, for some
reason," she said, giving him a curious look. "Those that know of
them at all, that is."

"It seems like the hand of Karas was at work when
you were chosen for this assignment," Faalken noted to Dolanna.
"Blind luck put the boy in the hands of someone that could help him."

"Yes, it does seem fortunate that I was
sent," she mused. "To think that I nearly rejected the request. I
am glad that I did not."

"I am too," Tarrin said sincerely and
fervently.

Dolanna smiled and put a hand on the back of his.
"With luck and hope, tonight will not be as bad," she told him.
"You must still spend it alone, but as we travel, I will teach you ways to
center your thinking so that you can put the instincts aside in your mind
enough to rest. They are the same techniques we teach our novices in order to
wield the power of Sorcery," she told him. "As you become accustomed
to the cat inside your mind and as you become skilled with the centering and
concentration skills I will teach you, let us hope that it solves your
problem. And it will give you a head start in your studies at the Tower."

"Dolanna, I've been meaning to ask," Faalken
said, "what are we going to do about travelling? Tarrin kind of stands
out now."

"I have already taken that into account," she
said. "I cannot create an illusion that will last all day, so I
instructed Arren to have a robe made for Tarrin that will cover him. It will
have a hood on it and oversized sleeves, so that he may hide his most striking
features. I also had him alter Tarrin's saddle so that his feet will fit in
the stirrups."

"I'll get the young pups out of bed," Faalken
said. "We have a long way to go today."

Tarrin looked at his hand, more like a hand-paw than a
hand, wondering at Dolanna's words. He could only really be hurt by fire,
acid, magic, silver, or falling from a height. But that didn't make much
sense. "Why can I be hurt from falling?" he asked.

"There is a simple concept behind it, Tarrin, one
that I should explain. Now that I think of it, it is something of which you
should definitely be aware. To put it more specifically, you can only be
harmed by magic, silver, or weapons of nature."

"Weapons of nature?"

"Is fire not a part of nature?" she asked.

"Yes, but--"

"Does it not injure?"

"Yes."

"Acid may be made by man, but it is still a
natural compound, existing in nature. Does it not also burn when
touched?"

He started to understand. "So falling off a cliff
results in a very natural impact with the ground," he concluded.

"Exactly. You should also be wary of true weapons
of nature. A falling tree will hurt you just as quickly as it would me, and if
someone hit you with a rock picked up off the ground, then it would result in a
real injury. But of these lesser forms, none can kill you. You regenerate too
quickly for that to happen. The only weapons of nature that can kill you are
fire, acid, falling...or maybe getting impaled on a tree branch., or getting
caught in an avalanche or rockslide."

"I'll remember that," he told her. "You
said that I have magic inside me," he said, his mind starting to explore
the possibilities.

"Yes."

"Doesn't that make me a magical
weapon?" he asked, holding up his hand-paw and extending his claws.
"I do have these, you know, and they are weapons."

She smiled broadly at him. "You are most clever,
Tarrin. Yes, it does. Being a magical creature, you have the power to injure
those creatures like yourself that can only be harmed by magic. But, there is
a drawback to that," she warned. "You are a magical creature, and
that lends itself to certain...vulnerabilities concerning magic. The largest
is that a ward set up to repel magic will not allow you to cross it," she
told him. "You cannot very well just leave your magic on the other
side."

"That makes sense," he reasoned.

"Well, we must be getting ready to leave,"
she told him. "We can continue our discussion on the road. Let me lower
the ward protecting the room. You should go get your things together, and make
sure that nothing was left behind."

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Walten was getting dressed when Tarrin came back into
the room. He was sandy-eyed and bleary; Walten was not a morning person.
Tarrin checked his packs, and realized that all of his trousers had been
altered already, and also that his boots were not here. Just as well, he
reasoned. He couldn't wear them now anyway. He took that opportunity to put
on clean clothes and wash up a bit, fighting a bit with the trousers to get his
fingers on that little button in the back that sealed his tail into that little
hole made for it. This was the second time he'd done it, and it took less than
half the time the second time around. He pulled a clean shirt over his head
and laced it up, then packed all his things away as he made sure that he had it
all. His bow and staff were in the corner. He picked up the bow, then looked
at his hands. There was no way he could shoot it like this. The tips of his
claws were right there, and they could hit and cut the bowstring.
"Walten, I...I can't use this anymore," he said, holding up the bow.
"Would you like to have it?"

"I, guess," he said slowly. "I'll just
keep it for you, in case you want it back, alright?"

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Tiella was sitting at the table when they left the
room, and the door outside was open. Tarrin could see one guard standing at
the door, but he could smell three others. Faalken's scent was still strong in
the room, but it was obvious that he'd left. Dolanna was in the other room; he
could hear her moving around. Not long after Walten came out of the room,
three servents brought in large platters with breakfast, and that lured Dolanna
and Tiella out of the bedroom. Tarrin had learned from yesterday how careful
he had to be, else he would bite his tongue while he ate. And with teeth like
his, that was not a pleasant experience. He managed to work through breakfast,
then was handed a plain brown robe by Dolanna when he pushed his plate away.
Although if fit, it was not comfortable. The hood pressed down on his ears in
an irritating manner, and he had to keep his tail tucked in to keep it from
bulging out the back of the robe.

"Tuck your hands in," Dolanna told him, and
he pushed his hands into the sleeves. They totally concealed them. "The
only problem is your feet, but they will be partially in the stirrups. With
the black fur on them, they will appear as boots. It will do." She sat
back down at the desk, writing something on a piece of parchment. "I
doubt that Duke Arren is awake, so I will write him a letter of gratitude, and
when I am done, we will depart. I wish to reach Skeleton Rock by sunset, so we
have a day of hard travel ahead of us."

Outside for the first time since the change, Tarrin was
assaulted on all sides by sounds and smells that almost overwhelmed him. What
was merely unpleasant before was a powerful stench now, the smell of man, his
waste, and his sweat assaulting Tarrin's nose like a hammer. He realized that
it was the background from inside the castle magnified a thousand fold. He
choked briefly after stepping out the door of the keep, then went into a fit of
coughing and sneezing.

"I hope so," he said, putting the back of his
hand over his nose and letting the smell of his fur cover the stink of the
city.

Hands brought the horses around, and Tarrin realized
that they may have a problem. Horses could smell too, and he wasn't sure if
they'd take him as a predator or not. His scent was not the same as a human.

He approached his horse slowly and gently, letting it
get his scent a little at a time. The horse began to whinny slightly and
started to fidget. Reaching out one hand, Tarrin placed it on the bridge of
the horse's nose, stroking it reassuringly. The horse looked at him curiously,
realizing that he was the one that had the strange smell, but Tarrin's careful
gentle touch had eased the horse's primary fear. "Yes, it's me," he
told the horse with a smile as it suddenly nuzzled him.

"I see that that will not be a problem,"
Dolanna said.

"Not with this horse," he corrected.
"They don't know my smell, so how they see me depends on how I act when I
come up to them." Tarrin packed his saddle with his gear, sliding his
staff into the saddleskirt, then carefully mounted the horse. The horse was
still a bit nervous, and the other horses were beginning to get skittish, but a
gentle pat on the neck and a few soothing words calmed the horse down again.

"Put up your hood, Tarrin," Dolanna ordered
as she climbed into the saddle. Walten was ordered to take the pack horses,
and Tiella pulled herself up with Faalken's assistance.

"Have a safe journey, milady," one of the
hands said, letting go of her horse's bridle.

"May the Goddess make it so," she said
quietly.

Torrian didn't seem any different when they had arrived,
when Tarrin was human, but it smelled differently. The powerful smell of the
city was indeed starting to dull, and Tarrin could begin to make out other
scents, those of horses and wood and metal, out on the streets. The streets
were sparsely populated, mainly merchants and shopkeepers and their servants
beginning the ritual of opening their businesses for the day's custom. He
could also catch faint odors drifting out of open doors, those of leather,
spices, and the smell of baking bread of roasting meat. He looked around
actively, trying to put a name or sight to a particular smell, for there were
many that he couldn't readily identify. The ones that he knew were simply the
smells he'd known when he was human, only sharper, but there were a myriad of
other smells out there that he'd never smelled before.

They crossed the White River at the Old Bridge, and then left Torrian through the eastern gate, on what was known as Skeleton Road, because of the natural formation called Skeleton Rock that was visible from
the road. Once they were outside the walls, the powerful smell of the city
ebbed with every step, until there was nothing left but the smells of the
forest.

It was just as powerful, but for different reasons.
The Cat seemed to roar up in his mind at the smells and sounds and sights of
the wilderness, reacting to the scents of the forest. His ears began to search
and seek out every little sound, his nose testing the air for every possible
scent. The smells of man and horses were still strong along the road, but the
smell of trees and earth and animals washed away that unnatural intrusion.
Tarrin pulled down his hood and breathed deeply as the smells of the forest,
letting them clear his nose of the city-smell and clear his mind of his worries.

There was one other smell, faint, but he could just
barely make it out. A familiar smell, though he'd never smelled it before.
Familiar because it was close to his own. "The other one was here,"
he told Dolanna. "The one that bit me. I can still smell her."

"How long ago?"

"Probably yesterday," he told her. "I'm
not sure, though. I'm still getting used to this." He pointed to the
woods. "Her smell goes that way. I think she went for the trees almost
right after she cleared the hill that hid her from the city wall."

"Just let her go, Tarrin," Dolanna warned.
"You will not find her."

"I don't want to," he grunted. "I know
that this wasn't her fault, but she's still the one that did it to me."

"I understand," she said. "Let us pick
up the pace. Skeleton Rock is quite a distance from here."

They rode hard throughout the entire morning, stopping
only to rest the horses. The morning was warm and sunny, and the weather
pleasant enough to make the ride almost enjoyable, as Tarrin experienced such a
sensation of freedom and pleasure that it made him wonder at himself. He knew
it was coming from the Cat, but that didn't change how he felt. The Cat
considered the trackless winderness to be home, but he could also sense that it
didn't mind the cities, either. It was a creature of adaptability, capable of
making it almost anywhere its paws were touching the ground.

They did not stop for lunch, they ate in the saddle
during a walking period to rest the horses, a meal consisting of dried fruit, cheese,
and bread, then they were off again at a brisk canter. The shape of the land
was slowly changing, becoming less hilly but just as forested, and there were
more and more small streams and brooks to traverse as they continued in the
south-of-east direction in which they were moving. There were no villages or
settlements in the region, which Tarrin considered to be curious. "Why
aren't there any villages?" he called to Dolanna as they rode.

"Because this region is considered to be bad
luck," she replied. "Skeleton Rock breeds such tales. You will
understand when you see it."

Tarrin considered that, then decided to wait until he
saw this Skeleton Rock before he made any judgements.

About an hour after eating, they slowed to a walk to
rest the horses. The wind shifted into Tarrin's face, and that brought to him
the smell of man. Several of them, just up ahead. Faalken was at the rear,
riding up from a scout of their trail and possibly moving on up ahead to scout
the front. "Dolanna, there are men and horses in front of us," he
warned her.

"How many?"

He sniffed at the air. "I can make out at least
six different men," he told her, "but it seems like there are more
than that." Up ahead, the road turned sharply to the left to avoid a deep
streambed.

Dolanna called for them to stop by raising her hand and
reining in. "This road is known for bandits, because of the lack of
population along it," she told Tarrin. "Let us make sure it is a
trade caravan before rounding the corner. Put up your hood, young one.
Walten, Tiella, come closer."

He lifted the hood in place as Faalken reached them.
"What is it?" he asked.

"Tarrin smells men up ahead," Dolanna told
him. "We will wait to see if they show themselves."

"That's not all of it," he said. "There
are several men riding up from behind, hard," he told her. "I could
just make out their dust. They'll be up to here in just a little while."

Tarrin scented a change in the attitude of the scents,
getting stronger. They were moving, and it wasn't up the road. "Dolanna,
the men are moving, but they're not coming up the road."

"Which direction?" Faalken asked.

"Towards us," he replied.

"That tears it," Faalken said grimly,
clapping down the visor of his helmet. "Caravans don't sneak through the woods."

Walten drew out Tarrin's bow and nocked an arrow.
Surprisingly, Tiella drew out a sling from her belt pouch and slipped a stone
into the cup. "No, take the pack horses," Walten told her. "I
need both my hands. You can still get off one shot holding the horse's
reins."

"Tiella, take the pack horses off the road,"
Faalken told her.

Tarrin could hear them now, rustling the brush ahead of
them, near the curve. He could make out a startled oath of disappointment,
then there was the sound of swords sliding out of scabbards. Tarrin laid back
his ears and snarled wordlessly as the Cat in him prepared to beat back the
attackers. "They're coming," Tarrin said, pulling his staff out from
the saddleskirt. Now that they were closer, more and more scents were becoming
clear to him. "Dolanna, I can smell at least fifteen now, maybe
more."

"Listen!" Dolanna said sharply. "Stay
together, and do not advance past me," she warned. "I will have to
use sorcery, and I do not want to hurt one of you by accident. Faalken, with
me. Tarrin, stay with Walten and Tiella and defend our pack animals."

In a rush, at least ten men erupted from the brush
ahead, shouting and brandishing weapons. Five men on horses rounded the corner
ahead and charged, and a single man stood back by the brush. Tarrin could hear
him shouting in oddly discordant, unintelligible words that made Dolanna's eyes
widen like saucers. He could feel her do her magic, then he felt a sensation
of enclosure. The shouting man pointed his hands at them, and Tarrin almost
jumped when a ball of fire erupted from his hands and streaked right at them.
It struck something in front of them, something invisible, and exploded.
Tiella screamed and Tarrin had to supress the sudden urge to run away when an inferno
of angry fire surrounded them, licking at the invisible something that
prevented it from reaching them. Dolanna's magic had created some sort of
shield that was defending them from the enemy's magical attack. "Walten,
take out that mage!" Faalken demanded instantly. Walten raised the
longbow instinctively, pulled back, aimed, and fired. Tarrin could see from
the instant it left the bow that it would hit the mark. It arced over the
small field separating them, homing in on the chanting man, then simply bounced
away harmlessly.

He had something protecting him too.

"I cannot divide my attention," Dolanna said
in a strained voice as the men reached her shield and started beating on it
with their swords. "It is all I can do to hold a shield this size!"

Tarrin pulled off the robe and dropped off the horse,
understanding instinctively that if the mage wasn't killed, he would bring down
Dolanna's shield, and they would be hopelessly outnumbered by the attacking
bandits. He dropped his staff and waited for the right instant, right when the
middle-most man was rearing back his arm. Then he exploded forward like an
arrow from a bow. His shoulder caught the man squarely in the chest, picking
him up and carrying him into the man behind him, exploding him off his feet and
carrying him for several spans before Tarrin threw both of them aside
almost negigently. Then he put his ears back and ran flat out right at the
mage. Tarrin's inhuman strength gave him inhuman speed in that sprint, faster
than a horse, and the chanting man's eyes' bulged and he nearly mis-spoke
himself as he saw the Were-cat bearing down on him, his face full of mindless
fury. The mage simply redirected his spell, pointing at Tarrin instead of
Dolanna. A bolt of brilliant white lightning lashed out from the man's hands,
arcing across the meadow.

But Tarrin wasn't there.

The man blinked a second, then a shadow on the ground
made him look up.

It was the last thing he would ever see.

Tarrin had sprung into the air at the last instant,
jumping clear of the magical attack, jumping impossibly high, nearly twenty
spans into the air. He could have jumped onto the roof of a two story bulding
with his vaulting leap. It wasn't that hard for him to adjust his trajectory
so that he would land right on the unfortunate man His hand-paws leading,
Tarrin slammed directly into the man's chest, and he was already slashing and
tearing before his opponent hit the ground. They both rolled several times
backwards as Tarrin's momentum blew them both back towards the trees, as Tarrin
got a grip on the man's shoulder with one hand, his claws sinking deep into
flesh, and he brought up a foot and put it against the man's ribcage. He drove
his claws into the man's belly as they rolled, then kicked out and down even as
his hand pulled the man into it. It was an instinctive move, the same as a cat
raking with its back claws, and it was devastating. Tarrin ripped the man open
from the base of his ribcage to his hips, and all his internal organs flew out
of him in a stinking, bloody spray, their rolling making them fly all about.
The man managed to make a gurgling croak before he came down hard on his back,
Tarrin on top of him. His eyes registered shock as Tarrin lifted a paw while
hunched over the man, his other paw holding him down by the chest and his face
twisted into an animalistic snarl of pure hatred, and then struck with it. The
blow was aimed at the throat, but the sheer force of it, and Tarrin's inhuman
strength, ripped the man's head right off his body. That head was swiped aside
by the raw power of the blow, bouncing in the bloody grass like a ball before
coming to rest at the base of a tree.

Tarrin was almost overwhelmed by the smell of the
blood, and for a horrifying moment, he had to stop himself from ripping the man
apart. He put a blood-saturated hand-paw to his head, trying to shake off the
loud song of the Cat trying to get him to do as it willed, urging him not just
to kill, but to savage the victim. But his human reason prevailed; his friends
needed him. Tarrin got up and turned around, looking at the men beating
against the shield Dolanna created with their weapons. Dolanna made a pushing
motion, and the shield suddenly exploded outward, sending the men flying in all
directions. Faalken charged into the fray with his sword drawn, having his
warhorse stomp and grind enemies into the ground under his hooves. Tarrin
sprinted back towards them, chagrined at throwing away his staff like he did.
Walten put an arrow into a man's belly as Dolanna seemingly grabbed small balls
of fire from the air, hurling them with deadly accuracy into the chests and
backs of the attackers. Tarrin hit the back of the regrouping men like an
avalanche, grabbing one by the back of his mail armor, picking him up, and
hurling him into three others with enough force to tumble them three paces down
the road. He raised a bloodstained paw, the claws with small bits of ripped
flesh stuck to them, and ripped the face off one attacker with it, then
backhanded another with enough power to rip through his chain mail. One man
desperately tried to spear him from the side, but Tarrin twisted, grabbed the
spear with a free paw, and swung the man around, throwing him to the ground.
Tarrin used the spear shaft to block a sword, then an axe, then stepped into an
overswing and delivered a short kick to the knee. It snapped the man's leg
like a twig. Tarrin almost instinctively fell into the Ungardt forms of
fighting, and found a center, a focus that kept the Cat in check and let him
concentrate on the matter at hand. Killing enough of them to make the
survivors break and flee.

Tarrin went to rake a man across the chest, but an
arrow appeared in his side, and Faalken cut him down from behind an instant
later. Tarrin darted to the horse's side and grabbed the haft of an axe that
was aimed at the horse's leg, then yanked it out of the man's hand and buried
it up to the handle in the back of the man's head as he was turned by the
strength of Tarrin's yank. Tarrin saw out of the corner of his eye a man
trying to stab him in the side with a sword, then grabbed the brained man and
dragged him into the sword's path. The man lost his sword as the dead man
fell, then he fell himself with an arrow right in the temple. Tarrin had to admit,
Walten was a very good shot with his bow.

The remaning five men, two wounded by Faalken's sword
and Walten's arrows, turned and fled, screaming in panic. "Let them
go!" Dolanna said wearily as Tarrin moved to chase them down.

"Are you alright?" Faalken asked.
"You're covered with blood."

"It's not mine," Tarrin said through clenched
teeth. He'd killed. Not just one, but several men; he couldn't even remember
how many. Although it was a case of kill or die, he'd never taken a human life
before, and he found the taste of it to be very bitter.

"Tarrin," Dolanna said in a tightly
controlled voice. "The next time you decide to do something like that,
let me know. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I didn't know I was doing it myself," he
muttered quietly, looking away from the carnage and trying not to smell the
blood, or listen to the Cat sing to him in his mind.

"This was no group of bandits," Faalken said
with a grunt. "Not with equipment like this."

"And not with a Wizard leading them," Dolanna
agreed.

"This is too much, too fast," Faalken
continued in a sober voice. "There was the fire at Watch Hill, and then
the attack on Tarrin, and now this. Somebody doesn't want us to get back to
Suld real bad."

Tarrin could hear the pounding of horses' hooves, and
feel the vibration of it in the pads of his feet, coming from the road under
him. "Dolanna, those horses are coming up fast," Tarrin said
urgently.

By the time Dolanna had turned to look up the road, the
first of them appeared. The man behind the leader was carrying the banner of
Torrian and Duke Arren. They were dressed in the blue surcoats that were the
uniform of the armored, mounted warriors under Arren's control. They slowed to
a stop at the battlefield, and the lead man advanced. "Lady Dolanna, Duke
Arren sends these twenty men to be your escorts and guards on your
journey," he announced. "I am Captain Daran." He looked
around. "I see we didn't ride hard enough," he said in a grating
voice. "Are there any wounded?"

"Not among us, captain," Dolanna said warily.

The captain reached under his surcoat and produced a
letter. "The Duke asked me to give you this, to prove our identity,"
he said. "Jarax, take two men and see if the survivors of this are still
lurking around. Kardon, take three men and pull these bodies off the road.
Let's not litter the King's Highway."

The two men, one slim and wiry and the other massively
built, saluted and took men to carry out their orders. Dolanna accepted the
letter from the captain, broke the seal, and read it quickly. "These are
the Duke's men," she affirmed. "Noboby but Arren would know what is
written here. Considering what just happened, captain, we will be very glad to
have you along."

Daran looked around professionally. "Quite a
rumble," he noted. "Looks like the Were-cat did some serious
damage. Good work, Master Kael," he said, bowing in his saddle. "It
looks like you saved one of my Duke's favorite people."

"It was nothing," Tarrin said weakly. The
smell of the blood was getting to him, and it was getting very hard to control
the instincts.

Dolanna looked at him sharply. "Tarrin, there is
a stream just at the bend up ahead," she told him. "Take a clean
change of clothing and go wash up."

"I think I will," he said gratefully.

After scrubbing the blood and bits of flesh off his
paws and getting himself clean and into clean clothes, he rejoined them. The
bodies had been pulled off the road and placed in a line in the meadow. The
bodies had been carefully searched, nearly stripped, much of their equipment
now on the pack horses serving the Duke's men. Dolanna was with Walten and
Tiella, talking to them as Faalken helped the captain throw the last body into
line with the others. The three men sent to look for the survivors had
returned. Tarrin joined Dolanna with the others as she finished telling them
about something. Tiella, Tarrin noticed, was a bit pale, but had a determined
look on her face. "You alright, Tiella?" he asked.

"I'm alright," she told him. "I almost
got pulled off my horse by one of the bandits, but Sir Faalken saved me."

"Not before you put that sling stone in his eye,
then kicked him in the face," Faalken chuckled as he rejoined them.
"That had to hurt."

"It was supposed to," she said primly.

"I imagine it would," Faalken grinned.
"For a trio of farm children, you three are rather nasty fighters."

"It's from working all day, Sir Faalken, and
having nothing else to do but shoot things," Walten replied dryly.

"Just Faalken, please," he corrected.
"And I think I'd rather have you three farm villagers in a fight over a
pack of knights. Are we ready to leave, Dolanna?"

"Yes, we are ready now," she said.
"Tarrin, pick up your staff and put the robe back on, and we will be
off."

Tarrin rode with Dolanna and Tiella as they got under
way, encircled protectively by the Duke's alert men, wrapped in a layer of
steel and trained warriors against another attack. Faalken and Jarax were
scouting ahead, and the captain had a man riding behind as rear guard. Tarrin
had a grim expression on his face as he broached a subject he wanted to
continue talking about. "Back there, Dolanna, you said that you didn't
think that they were bandits," he said.

"They were not," she said gruffly. "A
pack of bandits would not have a Wizard leading them."

"And then Faalken brought up the fire, and, and
what happened to me."

"Yes, and I do not think that they were mere
coincidence. Not now. Tarrin, someone sent the female Were-cat after
you on purpose. The collar that she was wearing was a device that was
controlling her. And now the attack on us, after you and Faalken had noticed
the Wraith. And before that, the fire that started so mysteriously, and raged
out of control faster than even my magic could control it. No, someone is
trying to stop us from reaching Suld. Someone with considerable resources at
his disposal."

"But why?" he asked. "It makes no
sense. We're three villagers being brought to the Tower by a Sorceress and a
knight. What possible reason could someone have to try to stop us? We're not
worth the effort."

"I know, that is a part of the puzzle," she
said thoughtfully, a finger tapping her chin as she thought. "Obviously,
these people know something that we do not. Or believe that they do."

Dolanna raised an eyebrow. "An intriguing concept,"
she said with sincere interest. "Why do you believe so?"

"Well, there was the fire, then what happened to
Tarrin, and now this," she said. "And the Wraith, but it didn't
attack us. Well, aren't they just a bit too different?" she
asked. "Why not try another fire? That almost worked, and they had to
know that. Why send that woman after Tarrin, when she could have attacked you?
If they got you, Dolanna, the rest of us would probably just turn around and
run home. Then there was this, where they tried to kill all of us, but
they used brute force and not magic or a slave, like before. They just don't
add up."

"I think that you have a point," Dolanna
said. "They may be from the same group, but I think you are right in
believing that this was not the work of an individual. This was either a group
or several individuals working independently."

"The question is still why," Tarrin
maintained.

"That, I cannot answer," Dolanna said,
rubbing her delicate jaw.

"So we'd best plan our moves carefully,"
Tarrin said.

"I have already mapped out our plan of
action," she said. "At Marta's Ford, we will take a riverboat to
Ultern. That, I hope, will leave behind any spies that are watching us. From
Ultern, it is but a bit over three days to Suld. Two days to Jerinhold and one
day from there to Suld itself. Plus, the Ultern Road is packed at most all
times with caravans and travellers," she added. "The congestion on
the road will help to conceal us from sight, and dissuade another such direct
attack."

"So the worst of it will be getting to Marta's
Ford," Tiella said.

Dolanna nodded. "It is still three days to
Marta's Ford, even if we travel hard," she told them. "This is a
wide expanse of unsettled territory, where most anything can hide and wait in ambush.
I must admit, I am relieved beyond measure that Arren had the foresight to send
a guard detachment after us. Daran and his men are highly skilled, and are
extremely familiar with this terrain. They will get us to Marta's Ford. That
is our main objective at the moment."

"And from there, a boat ride," Tiella said.

Dolanna nodded. "Renneč should still be at
Marta's Ford," she said. "He is an old friend of mine. He told me
that he would not be leaving for a while, so that his crew can conduct minor
repairs to his ship. Perhaps, if he is there and seaworthy, he will agree to
take us downriver. His ship is fast, and his crew skilled. They will put us
far ahead of any pursuers."

"I like the sound of that," Tarrin said
sincerely.

"As do I," she said. "Now then, let us
pick up the pace a bit. We still must make Skeleton Rock before we may
stop."

Skeleton Rock was literally self-explanatory. They
reached the formation right at nightfall, and all four moons rose early and
full, washing the land with enough light to see by for a human. The others
couldn't see that far into the distance, but Tarrin's eyes could easily see to
the cliff face that towered over the road some distance away. In the side of
it, there was the head and partial skeleton of a monstrous animal so huge that
Tarrin doubted it was ever alive. The skull was long and vaguely reptillian,
and it looked like the teeth were as long as Tarrin's foot, all of them coming
to sharp points.

Tarrin peered at the formation for several moments,
then stopped Dolanna as she walked by. "What kind of beast is that?"
he asked.

"Nobody knows," she replied. "The bones
are actually stone, but I have been told that bones turning to stone is a
natural process. It means that the bones are beyond ancient. They are so old
that all the Tower's attempts to study them through magic have failed. It is
just too far back for our magic to reach. There are reports of much smaller
creatures resembling that one that live in the Desert of Swirling Sands, to the
west."

"Much smaller? How small?"

"About the size of a house," she replied
calmly.

"Yeek," he said under his breath. "I
wouldn't want to see one of those up close. It looks like it's nothing but an
eating machine."

"That is a fairly accurate description," she
said with a light chuckle.

Tarrin was given his own tent, and it was another night
of dreams. The fear wasn't as bad this second night, but the dreams were even
worse, because more than once he simply could not wake from it. They were also
mixed with human-like dreams of the men that he had killed, rising up from
their resting places and following him around, demanding to know what gave him
the right to take their lives. That scared him more than the Cat dreams.
Tarrin had suppressed the shock, fear, and horror at what he had done, but when
he was asleep, they all rushed back at him in a flood.

Hours before dawn, he found the idea of going back to
sleep to be too frightening to contemplate, so he dressed and left the tent.
Three men were standing guard around the camp, and the fire was low. He spent
the hours before dawn reading one of the books Dolanna gave him, a book about
the sources, uses, and practioners of magic. The book was confusing, obviously
written for someone that already had a basic understanding of magic and the
people who use it, but he did learn several things that he thought were
important.

There were four distinct types of magic-users, and each
one drew magic from a different source. The Sorcerers, who were born the ability
inside them. Where anyone with sufficient intelligence could learn another
type of magic, only people born with the ability inside them could be
Sorcerers. They manipulated the existing pattern-web of magic that laid over
the world, twisting and changing it into the magical effect they wanted. This
magical matrix was called the Weave, and it was from this web of magical energy
that Sorcerers drew their power. Sorcerers were the only magic-users that
could generate Illusions, it said, and a Sorcerer could interfere with the flow
of magic through the Weave that would disrupt and block the powers of a
Wizard. There were also Wizards, or Mages, who drew on their magical power
from an elsewhere, a place that nobody really understood. They did this
with their arcane chants of special words of power and precise gestures, and
the presence of certain materials that were vital for the magic to operate.
Wizards were the only ones that could Conjure creatures up from other worlds
and command them to do their bidding. Much like the Wraith that he had seen.
Priests, or Clerics, were the worshippers of Gods, and it was the Gods that
supplied these faithful with the magical power. Tarrin was already familiar
with Priests, for one from the temple to Karas in Torrian visited Aldreth every
two months to check in on them and see if they were doing alright. Abram
preached alot about the goodness and power of his God when he was there, and
though the villagers politely ignored his ranting, they were always happy to
see him, because he could perform healing on the sick or injured. The main
powers of a Priest were healing, supportive, and defensive, the book said,
meaning more to aid than to hurt, but Priests did have formidable offensive
magic at their command. Mending broken bones, breaking fevers, that sort of
thing was what Abram did for the village. Sorcerers could heal too, but a
Sorcerer's healing worked differently. Sorcerers could heal injuries, but not
illnesses. The last type of magic-user was also a type that was born with the
ability. They were called Druids, and little was known about them or their
magical power. What was known was that their power seemed to come directly
from nature itself, almost like the magical energy of life that was theirs to
command. Druids were rare and exceptionally powerful, because a Druid could
disrupt and block the magical attempts of any other type of magic-user. But
Druids were as rare as they were powerful, living far from human settlements
and doing their obscure work in the wildest of the wilderness.

Tarrin digested that during the dark hours, wondering
at the why of it. Why could Sorcerers block a Wizard's attempt to cast a
spell? And why didn't Dolanna do that to the Wizard when they were fighting?
How did Priests call on the Gods for their magic? Could anyone? The book
didn't say. What other place did Wizards get their magic, and how did they
learn of the creatures from beyond that they could summon up into the world?
And just what did the Druids do? Why could only Sorcerers create Illusions?
Why could Wizards only summon creatures from beyond? Just what magic did the
Druids draw on for their power?

Many questions, questions that he doubted the book was
going to answer.

The wiry man, Jarax, came out of a tent and sat near
him by the fire. He was a thin man, seemingly too thin to wear the heavy
armor, with wiry muscles and a long, narrow face. His black hair was short and
slicked back off his face, and he had a scraggly beard and moustache. "I
see I'm not the only one that can't sleep," he said.

Tarrin had not talked to any of these men, and he was a
bit afraid to do so. They knew what he was, and it was their companions, their
friends, that the female killed in her escape. He was almost certain that most
of them probably blamed him in some way for what had happened. Besides, he was
a bit nervous about talking to strangers. He couldn't see past his own
transformation in order to communicate with people he didn't know, so
self-conscious was he about what had happened to himself. Tarrin just nodded
vaguely, hoping the man would just sit down and be quiet. He wasn't sure if
the man was talking out of simple courtesy, or friendliness, or out of fear of
him. All in all, he rather preferred it if there was no talk at all.

"What are you reading?" he asked politely.

"A book on magic," Tarrin replied quietly.

"Don't think I ever read that," he mused,
leaning back against a log. "I prefer stories and poetry myself."
Tarrin went back to his book, and after a few moments, the man spoke again.
"Is that what you always read?" he asked curiously.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "I'm trying to
understand this."

"Sorry," he said a bit tartly, leaning back
against the log again. Tarrin looked at the book, not really reading it,
turning a page every few minutes. It was worth it to avoid talking.
"Could I interest you in a game of stones?" the man asked.

Tarrin snarled at him, his ears laying back slightly.
The man gave him a startled look, then hastily stood up. "I think you'd
rather be alone," he said, stating the obvious. Then he turned and walked
away.

Tarrin put the book down, putting his palm to his
forehead. Where did that come from? It wasn't like him to react like that,
but the man had irritated him. What scared him was that it came without
thought, and he reacted on it just as mindlessly. Were the instincts changing
him so much? Like what had happened earlier, with the mage. He'd torn the man
apart, literally, and he had reveled in it for one horrifying moment.
It wasn't a perverse joy, it more like a deep satisfaction that came with
killing an enemy. But it frightened him just the same. He was changing, he
knew it, he could feel it. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He could only hope that he could temper it. So that there would be some part
of Tarrin left once the mental alterations were complete.

"Would you like to talk about it?" asked a
voice. It was Tiella. She sat down beside him on the log, fearlessly taking
his hand-paw into her hand and stroking it reassuringly. That simple act was
devastating in its simplicity, and he was about to surrender completely to her
and let her scratch him behind the ears. Tiella turned his hand up and looked
at his palm, with its large, tough pad and the smaller pads on his fingertips,
marvelling at the paw-like qualities of his hand, which truly made it a hybrid
of the two, and not one or the other.

"I'm...doing things, Tiella," he said
uncertainly. "I'm not thinking about them...it's like I can't think about
them. They just happen, and I'm afraid of it."

"Why?" she asked.

Tarrin blinked and looked at her. "Why? Because
it's not what I would do," he told her.

"That's to be expected, Tarrin. This," she
said, holding up his hand-paw, "this is not what you were a few days ago.
It's different now. You have to let yourself get used to it, but that doesn't
have to mean that you have to be afraid of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when something like that happens, ask
yourself why it happened," she told him. "What
happened?"

"That man kept talking to me, and I wanted to be
left alone," he said, shuddering a bit. "So I snarled at him."

"Alright, now why did it happen?" she asked.

"I don't know, because he was irritating me, I guess,"
he said.

"No," she said. "That's what you
think happened," she said. "What about the other mind in there? Why
did it do it?"

"To make him leave me alone," he floundered.

"No," she said again. "Because you wouldn't
do anything about it," she told him. "It let you try first. When
you either gave up or failed, it decided to do something about it. And
it worked."

Tarrin stared at her for quite a while. It was a bit
crazy, but in its own way, it was perfectly logical. The Cat in him had its own
way of doing things, that was true...but it was also true that that didn't
happen until after then man repeatedly bothered him. Had the Cat sensed his
human desires, and acted upon them? If that were so, then didn't that put the
Cat under his control as much as it put him under its control?

"You're going to have to start asking yourself why
you do the things you do," she told him. "There has to be reasons
for every single thing. And if you can understand those reasons, well, then
maybe it won't be so scary. So the next time it happens, don't be afraid of
it. Explore it, try to understand it. Experience it. If you try to
just ignore it, then you'll never be able to stop it."

He chuckled ruefully. "Tiella, I don't think you
know how much better I feel now," he said sincerely. "I think you
may be right. Dolanna told me not to ignore what I was feeling and the
instincts in my head, but if she'd have said it the same way you just did, I
don't think I'd have been afraid. Well, I'm still going to be afraid, but I'll
try to understand the why of what I do as well as the what. There has to be
reasons the Cat does the things it does. It's not a creature of whim."

"That's where you're messing up, Tarrin," she
told him. "Don't keep thinking about it as it and you.
There is no it and you. It's just you. What you have in here," she said,
tapping his forehead, "it's a part of you. If you treat it like something
that's not, then it's going to seem like it's not, and that's not good
for you. You may call it the Cat, or the instincts, or the other mind, but
it's not. It's just a different part of you, of your own mind. It's not what
the Cat does, it's what you do."

He gave her a steady look, and he could see her blush
slightly. Tiella was usually a quiet girl, headstrong, but talking wasn't her
way. He knew she was smart, but she'd just laid out what he was feeling, and
solutions to those problems, like it was something that even a child would have
realized. He looked at her with a budding new respect. He reached up and put
his paw on her cheek, his huge paw swallowing up half her face, and she smiled
at him and put her hand against his paw. "That tickles," she
giggled. "That pad is soft and rough at the same time, and the fur on your
fingers is smooth. Now, it's my turn," she said, holding out a hand
imperiously. Tarrin seemed to understand what she wanted. Without much
thought, he brought his tail around and placed it into her waiting hand. She
grabbed hold of it, feeling the thickness of it, then probed the fur with her
fingers meticulously. He felt her fingertip touch the skin under the fur, then
she grabbed it both hands and bent it. She bent it until it was touching
itself, and kept doing it until he sucked in his breath. "Sorry,"
she apologized. "Is the fur hot?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "It
just seems normal."

"What's it like, having the tail?"

"Different. Interesting," he replied.
"It does its own thing most of the time, but it does help with balance,
and it helps me run faster. It's longer than my legs, so I have to keep it off
the ground, but that's not too hard. The muscles that move it are pretty
strong."

"How does it help you run?"

"It's like a counterbalance," he told her.
"I can lean farther down, and that lets me run faster. I don't fall over
because of the weight pushing out behind me. It seems to just know when and
where to move to keep me balanced too. It's almost eerie."

She yawned. "I think I'll go back to bed,"
she told him. "Think about what I said, Tarrin. And try to get some
sleep. You're starting to get circles under your eyes."

She slipped back into the tent she shared with Dolanna,
leaving Tarrin to his own thoughts. She had come very, very close to the mark,
he realized. He did tend to think of the Cat as an invader, an alien,
something that was not him taking up residence in his mind. That wasn't
true. Though it hadn't been there before, it was there now, and it was as much
a part of him as his right arm. Perhaps the Cat considered him to be much the
same, an usurper out to overthrow it. It did things, things that
happend without his rational thought, but that was only logical. They were
instinctive reactions, response to stimulus, reflexes. They happened first
because he didn't have to think about them. Analyzing his actions also
was very sensible. If he could identify what was making him do things, and why
they were happening, he would come into a greater understanding about himself,
and that would make it easier when it was necessary for him to prevent that
particular thing from happening again, or to minimize its effect if it was
something either unavoidable or uncontrollable.

It wouldn't be easy. He knew that. It may be
instincts and impulses, but it carried with it a greater intelligence that made
what he called the Cat a very complex creature. But it was a start. And that
was something that he hadn't had when they left Torrian yesterday. It did make
him afraid, but at least now he felt that there was something that he could do
in order to make peace inside himself.

After a suitable gawk at Skeleton Rock and a hot
breakfast, the group was off again, riding hard in the cloudy morning. Captain
Daran kept two men in the lead at all times, scouting out the conditions ahead
as two men drifted behind them to ensure there were no followers. They passed
one caravan train in the morning, and a brief stop to talk to them told them
that the way ahead was all but deserted, and that they were making better time
than they thought. At the pace they were going, they would reach Marta's Ford
before noon tomorrow.

Tarrin spent the riding thinking about what Tiella had
said to him, and thinking about Dolanna's instruction that morning, in
concentration exercises. They were a bit like the aiming exercise that his
father taught him, about emptying the mind of all thought and concentrating all
of your attention onto a single thing, ignoring everything else. In archery,
that one thing was the target. Dolanna was teaching him to center himself on himself.
She told him that that was the first step to using Sorcery, to look within, and
then without, then draw what was out within, then use what was within to change
what was without. It sounded a bit confusing, but he was certain that it would
make sense eventually. He couldn't do it riding the horse as hard as he was,
but he could think about how what Dolanna had told him would fit in with the
insights that Tiella had revealed to him early that morning.

They stopped for lunch near a small river which they
had just forded. Lunch was going to be a simple affair of bread and cheese and
some dried fruit, but Tarrin was more thankful for the time out of the saddle.
His back didn't agree with all the bouncing around. He put his paws on his back
and stretched it, bending backwards so deeply that his head nearly brushed the
ground. His backbone was different now, he knew, with more bones in it that
were a bit smaller, which let him bend like that. Playing around, he put one
paw on the ground and walked over himself, bringing his legs up and over until
he was balanced on that one paw perfectly. He'd never considered that he would
inherit the cat's agility as well as the fur. Such a move was no strain on him
at all to maintain. He bent his elbow and brought his nose down to tickle the
grass, then pushed himself back out, then swung down into a hunched, all-fours
position much akin to a cat sitting. "Having fun?" Walten asked him
as he walked by.

"Just testing something," he replied. He
sprang straight up, high into the air, then tucked in and began to roll
backwards. The sky and ground traded places wildly, but Tarrin just knew
exactly where the ground was, and he also just knew precisely how he was
oriented to the ground at all times. He snapped out his arms, and his paws
made perfect contact with the grass. He arched back and pushed off with his
arms, coming to a perfect stop, bent like a bow, at a very shallow angle to the
ground, using raw strength to keep from toppling over. It was incredible, and
he wondered at it for long moments as he generally just jumped around,
performing acrobatic feats that would had made the most grizzled veteran
performer gawk.

"Impressive," Dolanna remarked. "Now,
if you are done playing, we need to eat and move on."

"Sorry," he said, sitting down beside the
Sorceress as Faalken grinned at him. "What?"

"You should tour," he said with a laugh.
"Tarrin Kael, acrobat extraordinaire. I can see you pack them in."

"Oh, please," Tarrin scoffed.

"We can get you one of those tight-fitting
costumes," he went on.

Jarax laughed, and Tarrin scowled at the knight.

"Dolanna can open for you, doing a magic act with
things stuffed up her sleeves and ribbons hidden in her hair."

"That will do," Dolanna said frostily.

Faalken gave Dolanna an imupdent grin, then took a
drink of water innocently.

"You can be the strongman," Tarrin told him
with a calm voice. "Faalken, the half-brained strongman, so muscular
because his body didn't want to waste the effort on his mind, so dumb we don't
even pay him. I figure that should attract the baser audience."

Faalken gave him a look, then laughed jovially.
"I guess I deserved that," he chuckled.

"You deserved worse," Dolanna said in an icy
voice.

"Your dinner is getting warm," Faalken told
her with a wink.

They camped that night in a clearing well off the road,
and it was another sleepless night for Tarrin as the dreams invaded his mind.
He awoke the next morning sandy-eyed and feeling like his head was stuffed in
wool. Dolanna put them out on a pace even harder than the day before, and it
wasn't long until the first farms surrounding Marta's Ford were laid out to the
sides of the Skeleton Road. Dolanna slowed them to a walk, and as Walten and
Tiella listened to the wiry Jarax tell some old tale, Tarrin rode up to Dolanna
and listened as she talked with the captain of Arren's men and Faalken.

"We intend to take ship here, Daran, and there are
too many of your men to make it feasible," she told the captain.

"I intend to see you to Suld, Mistress
Dolanna," he said adamantly. "Arren ordered me to escort you through
the front door of the Tower, and I mean to do just that. I'll bring five men
with you."

"That is still too many. We have to board the
horses."

"Four."

"Three," Faalken said. "That's about
all the room that we'll have."

"Three then," he said. "Jarax and
Orgal."

"Good choices," Faalken agreed.

"Jarax?" Tarrin asked. "Why?"

"There's more to worth than a man's arm,
Tarrin," Daran told him. "Jarax is a good fighter, but he's also a
talkative man that keeps the villagers entertained, and keeps their mind off
what's going on. That makes him more than worth it."

Tarrin hadn't considered that. And it made sense.

"Orgal is the monster of a man that usually rides
rear guard," Daran told Dolanna. "He's quiet and seems slower than
he is, and he's got a good eye. Not much gets past him."

"Then arrange your packs so that your gear is with
us," she said. "But I do not want any more than one extra pack
animal in our train. Space is becoming a problem."

"I'll see to it, Mistress Dolanna," Daran
said.

"Tarrin, go back to Tiella and Walten for a
time," Dolanna told him. "And pull up your hood."

"Yes ma'am," he said, pulling back and
letting the knight and Sorceress speak privately. He didn't even try to
eavesdrop on them, which would have been easy because of his keen hearing. He
settled the hood over his ears carefully, patting on it to feel if they were
bulging, then joined the trio in the middle of the column.

Jarax was spinning a tale about history, about the
civil war that had raged between Draconia and Tykarthia for the last seven
hundred years. They were the two kingdoms north of Sulasia, which had once
been one kingdom, and had fought a war so bloody for so long that victory
wasn't even a goal any more. They lived only to completely eradicate the other
off the face of Sennadar. "So," Jarax was saying, "the western
nobles of Draconia were getting more and more displeased with King Dawon. They
considered the weighted tithe system the king used to be unfair, seeing as how
the western nobles were paying nearly four times as much as the eastern ones.
The nobles of the east, led by the crafty Earl Winold, kept flattering the king
with gifts and very carefully arranged plots to continue to discredit the
western nobles and keep them out of the king's favor. Winold, you see, hated
Duke Tykan with a passion, and he considered the more moderate practices going
on in the western parts of the kingdom to be almost sacreligious. Winold was a
man that would have banned the use of fire if the thought he could get away
with it. Some men are like that.

"Winold was a crafty one, but he made one fatal
error. He arranged a border atrocity, sending a large complement of soldiers
to attack an isolated, small village in southern Ungardt, then arranged it to
look like the leader of the western nobles, Duke Tykan, was the one that
ordered the attack. The attackers carried out their mission, and did manage to
convince the Ungardt that it was Tykan who was responsible, but they didn't
count on the Ungardt response. Instead of punishing just Tykan, the Ungardt
invaded the entire kingdom of Draconia. That was the War of Seven Roses, and
it lasted only six months. It ended with the Ungardt invaders taking King
Dawon back to Dusgaard in chains, dragged by a horse the entire way. The
stories say that he even managed to live long enough to get to Dusgaard, where
he was stoned to death in a public square by children. Dawon's heir was
Elon."

"Elon the Sunderer?" Tarrin asked.

"That's how he's known, yes," Jarax said with
a smile. "Elon wasn't a very smart man. He relied on Winold's counsel,
not realizing that Winold only cared about putting Tykan in his place. Tykan
and the western nobles had fought well in the war, but the western lands had
been relatively untouched. The Ungardt had invaded from the north and east,
ravaging the eastern duchies on their way to Draconis. Winold convinced Elon
to raise the taxes and thithes even more on the western nobles, to equalize the
suffering, so Elon had been told.

"Needless to say, Tykan and the western nobles
went up in flames. Tykan demanded an audience with the king, which was
denied. Tykan knew that it was Winold behind all the scheming, so he decided
that he had to talk to the King without Winold's oily voice there to cloud the
issues. When he tried to get into the king's bedroom to talk to him
personally, Winold had him thrown in the dungeon. The western nobles, loyal to
Tykan, attacked Dracon Keep in a surprise attack and freed Duke Tykan. They
were careful not to hurt anyone, but their goal of just freeing the Duke wasn't
really noticed. Tykan fled back to his duchy with Winold's private army on his
tail, then they barred themselves in Tykar's Hold and endured a month-long
siege. The armies of the west rose up and chased out the invaders.

"That was when Elon made a fateful mistake. He
declared Tykan an outlaw, and levied fines on all the nobles of the west that
had participated in the routing of Winold's army, so steep that they would
never be able to pay them. The western nobles, in an absolute rage over the
continual injustice, simply seceeded from Draconia as a block. They decided
that wise Tykan would be their king, and named their new kingdom after him.
The nobles of the central duchies were suddenly caught between two nations, and
they declared their allegiances in a random order that left pockets of one
kingdom inside another.

"By then, Elon had died under mysterious
circumstances, and with no heir, Winold assumed the throne. His hatred of
Tykan had totally consumed him, so he raised an army to march into the
rebelling western lands and kill anything that moved. The western lords,
already mobilized, marched east and met the hastily assembled army at Long Staff River, and totally crushed them. Winold pulled back and regrouped as Tykan
rallied for support from Ungardt and Sulasia, his bordering neighbors. The
Ungardt were still in a tiff over the war, and the Sulasians recognized their
independence but wouldn't form any sort of military alliance. "And
that was how the war started. Tykan controlled the commerce coming in from the
western harbors and ports, but Winold controlled the iron mines in the
mountains around the Petal Lakes. The two kingdoms started a war that still
hasn't ended, to this day. The lands between Draconia and Tykarthia, once
fertile farmland, are nothing but a barren wasteland now, the grass trampled
into mud by hundreds of battles and all the towns and keeps crushed by one side
or the other. The border changed by the day at the beginning of the war, but
as time went by and more and more was destroyed by the boots of soldiers, the
wheels of siege engines, and by fire. They're more or less separated now, and
there are few if any major battles, but not a day goes by when one baron or
earl rides across that wasteland to raid on the border of the other. They say
that there are enough bones littering Elon's Waste to make a mountain."

"Wouldn't it have grown back by now?" Tiella
asked.

"Yes, it has, but it's still called a wasteland
because nobody can live there," Jarax replied. "Even the rudest hut
is burned and all its inhabitants killed, because there are raiders from both
sides prowling the no-man's land constantly. That brutal practice has actually
helped to keep the two kingdoms separate."

"I'm glad I don't live there," Walten said,
shuddering.

"It's an unhappy place, all right," he said.
"I've been there a few times. Children are taught that the people on the
other side of the border are murderous animals and have to be completely
exterminated. They live in cities behind walls, and the people out on the
farms jump at every shadow. The funny thing is, they both worship the same
God. They're the same people, but they're too busy hating each other to notice
it."

"Eww," Tiella sounded. "I'm glad I
don't live there too."

"Why does it go on?" Tarrin asked.

"Who knows?" Jarax shrugged. "I guess
because by now, there's nothing left but hate. The minds of fanatics are hard
to fathom. You'd be better off trying to walk to the sun." He scratched
at his beard absently. "Now that we got the unpleasant story out of the
way, how would you like to hear about the Islands of Amazar?"

"Where?" Tiella asked.

There was a gleam in Jarax's eye. "A wondrous
place that I myself have visited. A place of women, where women rule, women
fight, and women do all the things that men do here, and men are the property
of the women."

"There's no such place," Walten scoffed.
"My father told me that the tales about Amazar are a bunch of baloo.
There's no Amazar, no Sha'Kari, and there's no such things as dragons."

"Sha'Kari, I don't know about," Jarax
admitted, "but Amazar is a real enough place, thousands of leagues to the
south of Shacč. Amazar is actually a series of islands off the coast of the
continent of Sharadar, home of that wondrous and ancient land of magic. The
Wikuni visit it often, because the furs and silk the Amazons make are in high
demand, and they are the only ones that go to the islands. I was there myself,
so I know."

"If they don't let humans go there, how did you
get there?" Tiella asked, a bit accusingly.

"Ah, that's a long tale," he said.
"Let's just say that I was a young man with a wanderlust. It's not that
humans aren't allowed. Women are free to come and go as they will, but any man
that sets foot on the lands of Amazar becomes a woman's property, and he's not
allowed to leave. I happened to Amazar quite by accident, and spent nearly a
year there, owned by a tall, regal lady named Sulina Dar. She was quite a
woman," he said, his eyes distant. Then he cleared his throat and
continued. "I decided that being a slave wasn't all it was cracked up to
be, and snuck onto a Wikuni galleon and returned to Sennadar. I even have
something to remember it by," he said. He rolled up the sleeve of his
tunic, displaying a strange tatoo. "This was the mark of my
mistress," he told them. "That's how they know who owns which
man."

"What happens when he's sold?" Tarrin asked.

"He's tatooed again underneath the first one.
Some men have tatoos all the way down one arm and halfway down the other, but
they're usually older men. Being sold too often hurts a man's
reputation."

"Reputation?" Walten asked. "How can a
slave have a reputation?"

"It's slavery, yes, but it's almost an institution
now," he said. "Full-blooded Amazon men may be owned, but they're
not exactly slaves either. They have to do what the woman tells them to do,
but there's a certain amount of leeway in the matter. It's very difficult to
explain."

"Kind of like marriage," Tiella injected.

"Something like that, yes, but not quite,"
Jarax agreed.

They could see the edge of the town of Marta's Ford,
and Tarrin pulled up the hood a bit more to make sure of it, especially since
there were children playing in the field off to one side of the road. Dolanna
called the column to a stop, then turned her horse to face them. "Faalken
and I are going ahead to secure passage on a ship. Daran, keep everyone
together and off the road, and perhaps this would be a good time to check the
horses. We should be back soon."

The two of them trotted into the town as Daran and his
men walked the horses to a small field by the road across from the playing
children, then they all dismounted. Daran's men started checking over their
horses, and Tarrin did the same, urging his horse to give him a hoof at a time,
as he checked them to make sure the shoes were in good shape and there were no
stones or bruises. All of the horses had more or less grown used to Tarrin's
unusual smell, and he could pass among them like anyone else. They actually
paid him no mind; although his smell was obviously one of a predator, they
either understood or came to realize that he didn't eat horses, and that they
were safe with him among them.

A wooden ball came to a stop near Tarrin, and he froze
at the sight of the two small children running across the road to fetch the
toy. It was two little boys, both of them about eight years old, gangly but
well fed, with the taller of the two having reddish hair and the shorter brown
hair. Their features were similar; they were either brothers or cousins.
Tarrin let the rear hoof of the horse down slowly as the two boys looked at him
curiously. "Why do you have such big hands?" one of them asked
boldly.

"And why are they all black?" the other one
continued.

Tarrin put his hands inside his sleeves slowly as if it
was something he was used to doing, not drawing any undue attention to them.

"They're just my hands," he said calmly.
"Just like any other hands."

"My hands aren't black," one boy said,
holding them out to show him.

"No, but you're not me either," Tarrin
replied with a smile.

"You have funny eyes, mister," the other boy
noticed.

"They're not funny to me," Tarrin told him.
"I could say that your eyes are funny."

"You're one of those wi-koos, aren't you?"
the taller boy asked. "Those animal-people that sail on the ships."

"No," Tarrin said, "but you can think of
me as one of their cousins."

One of the boys across the road shouted for them to
bring back the ball. "Well, we have to go. Goodbye, wi-koo cousin,"
the taller boy said.

"Bye," the other said, and they ran back
across the road to rejoin their friends.

They hadn't shown any fear of him, even when it was
obvious to them that he wasn't human. But then again, children were like that
sometimes. He went around the horse and picked up the other rear hoof,
checking it carefully for signs of injury or damage, noting that it would have
to be trimmed down soon.

The horses all started fidgeting. Tarrin looked up and
sniffed deeply at the air, then his hackles rose. He had no idea what that
smell was, but it was not human, and it didn't smell very friendly either.
Judging from the way the horses reacted to it, it could be said that it was
definitely a bad smell. The wind was blowing from the north, from the trees
and across the field on the other side of the road, and then to them. Whatever
it was was up there in those trees past the field. Tarrin listened to his
instincts for the first time, actively seeking them out and seeing how they
reacted to that smell. The Cat didn't like that smell. And that was what he
wanted to know.

"Jarax," Tarrin said calmly, peering over the
children at the trees on the far side.

"What is it?" he asked.

"How quietly do you think you could get the
attention of those kids and get them to move?" he asked in a quiet, intent
voice. "There's a smell in the air that's upsetting the horses, and it
doesn't smell friendly. Whatever it is, its in those trees on the far side of
that field."

Jarax gave him a sober look. "I think I can get
their attention," he said. "I'll get Orgal and Nyllin and we'll let
them look at our swords. That always fascinates young boys."

"I'll drift up to the road over there," he
said, pointing towards the town with a clawed finger. "If whatever it is
sees that the kids are being watched, maybe it will give up and go away."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but it has the smell of blood on
it," Tarrin replied. "That means its a predator."

Jarax nodded, and he walked over to where Daran was
talking to Orgal and a few other of his men. Daran looked at Tarrin curiously,
who nodded and started to move, so he quietly issued a few orders to his men,
and they all started to drift apart in seemingly random directions. Jarax,
Orgal, and Nyllin, the second in command of the men, approached the boys with
light voices and offers to let them hold their swords. That made the young
boys instantly forget their game and rush over to where the men were standing,
which was on Tarrin's side of the road. That drew the boys out from between
Arren's men and whatever it was on the other side of the field.

Tarrin reached the road a few paces from the leading
horse, ignoring the curious looks from Tiella and Walten. He looked back at
Walten quickly, and made a drawing motion with his hands, then nudged at the
far woods with a jerk of his head. Walten understood his action, then quickly
pulled Tarrin's longbow out of his saddleskirt and started stringing it.
Tiella pulled her leather sling out of her belt pouch and kept it wadded up in
her hand, a bullet stone fitted into the sleeve, as she pulled out Walten's
quiver of arrows for him. Tarrin untied the robe belt in front of him; the
robe was too full, and he couldn't run very fast or very well while wearing
it. He stood on the side of the road, seemingly with his head bowed, watching
the edge of the woods from the edge of the hood.

There was a movement at the edge of the woods. It was
just too high up. Tarrin looked up and saw a face, nearly fifteen spans off
the ground, impossibly wide. Tarrin gave a gape at the face that materialized
in the greenish cast of the woods, probably invisible to any eyes but his, then
he saw the yellowed tusks at the edges of its mouth. It was a Troll! He'd
never seen one, but he'd heard enough about them from his father. Trolls were
the largest of the Goblin races, twice as big as a man and ten times meaner.
They ate humans whenever they got the chance. The Cat in him welled up loudly
when he recognized that face; obviously the Cat had no love for Trolls either.
It wanted to kill it, and Tarrin found himself in agreement. Trolls this close
to human lands were only there for one reason, and that was to catch someone to
eat. But he wouldn't go running after it. The smell of it was too strange to
him to discern if there was more than one, and he wasn't about to run into a
snake pit. Too strange, and too horrid. Now that the smell was clearer, he
decided that he'd never smelled anything so vile in his life. Not even the
city-smell that hung about Torrian was that bad. It smelled like rotting flesh
floating in a month-old cesspool. Tarrin made a motion to Daran, who
approached him casually. "It's a Troll," Tarrin told him.

"You're sure?"

Tarrin nodded. "I saw it. The face was about
fifteen spans off the ground, and it had tusks."

"That was a Troll, alright," he said grimly.
"How many?"

"I'm not sure," Tarrin said quietly. "I
don't know their scent well enough to figure out if there's more than one.
Besides, the smell is so awful I doubt I could if I tried," he said,
wrinkling his nose.

"Walten may be able to put an arrow into it,"
Tarrin said. "It's right at the edge of bow range."

"No, then it'll just get mad," Daran said,
thinking. "We have to lure it out, so we can kill it."

"Trolls may not be smart, but they aren't
stupid," Tarrin said, falling back on what his father had taught him about
them. "It's not going to come out here when it can see twenty armed
men."

"We can have some of the men trot off," Daran
said to himself."

Tarrin looked up, seeing more disturbances in the
foliage. "I don't think that it's going to matter," Tarrin said
quickly. Tarrin could see another Troll, and then another, and one more,
gathering at the edge of the trees. "I see four of them now."

"They'll attack with that many," Daran told
him, turning around and putting a hand on his sword. "I can see
them," he said.

The Trolls hovered at the edge of the clearing, then
they simply turned and walked away. Tarrin could smell their scents getting
fainter; a smell that pungent was easy to keep track of. "They're
leaving," Tarrin said. The taste of disappointment was hot in his mouth,
and he had to quell the Cat's desire to go chase them down. Now he was glad
that he hadn't chased off after that thing in the first place. He'd have had a
nasty shock by the time he got there.

"That's not like them," Daran said
curiously. "Twenty to four are odds that Trolls would have accepted, and
it's not like a Troll to give up on a fight. They like killing as much as they
like eating."

"All in all, with those children here, I'm glad we
didn't have to fight," Tarrin said, tying his robe belt again and trying
to calm down from the adrenaline-rushed high he'd worked himself up to in
preparation for the fight.

"It may not be over yet," Daran said.
"They may have decided to turn around, or maybe even try to come at us
from another direction. We're moving into town, and we're bringing the
children in with us," he announced. "I don't want to be left out in the
open like this with four Trolls prowling the woods."

"Good idea," he agreed.

They all got into a loose formation around the
children, who were lured into coming with them by Jarax's easy manner and
promise that they could sit on the horses, then walked into town. Marta's Ford
was a large village, with no outer wall, and it was surprisingly clean by the
standards of Tarrin's nose. The buildings were vaguely similar to the ones of
Aldreth, except for the thatched roofs where Aldreth used slate tiles, but they
were laid out in rectangular patterns following the streets instead of facing
the village green. This town didn't have a green. The masts of three or four
ships were visible over the rooftops, near the large warehouse buildings. It
was that commerce that made Marta's Ford larger than Aldreth, for much of the
city seemed to revolve around its modest docks and the goods that were loaded
onto and off of the ships. Daran sent Nyllin to find the mayor and warn him of
the Trolls lurking in the surrounding woods, and the rest of them stood in a
vacant lot between two houses near the road leading towards Torrian.

Dolanna and Faalken returned not too long after the
kids had run out of things to see and drifted away. Dolanna was smiling
slightly as she approached, and Tiella, Walten, Daran, and Tarrin met the
pair. "Renneč is still here," she told them. "He awaits us at
the dock."

"Lady Dolanna, there were Trolls in the woods
while we were waiting," Daran said quietly.

"Trolls?" she asked.

The captain nodded. "I sent Nyllin to quietly
warn the mayor. I've ordered my men to stay in the town for a couple of days
to dissuade them from attacking anyone."

"Tell me what happened."

Daran and Tarrin quickly recanted the events that had
happened not long ago. When it was over, Dolanna pursed her lips worriedly.
"That's not normal behavior for Trolls," Faalken grunted. "They
should have attacked."

"I know," Daran agreed.

"At this point, I am not going to take any
chances," Dolanna said. "Let us get to the ship now. I will
convince Renneč that leaving immediately would be a good idea."

They walked the horses through town, reaching the
docks. The river was deep towards the southern end of town, but shallowed
dramatically towards the north, until it resembled little more than a stream,
forming the ford from which the town took its name. It was a natural headwater
that made it a logical place for a town to be. The town sported three wooden
docks stretching out into the narrow river, and all three were occupied by
three different types of ship. The farthest one away was a two-masted vessel
with a narrow beam and a graceful look. The middle ship was an oared scow with
a single, small mast, little more than a barge. The third ship was a
single-masted fishing vessel of some kind, heavy with nets and rigging and
smelling like fish even from this distance. Dolanna led them to the farthest
ship, which was painted a dull brown. Men and women both moved along the
decks, performing the repetitve chores that made up sailing, and one man,
wearing a white silk shirt and with a wide, flat hat with an outrageously long
feather in it, was standing at the rail. He was a thin man with a narrow face
and long, wavy black hair spilling out from under his cap, and he wore a thin,
long moustache and a goatee. It was obvious that he was Shacčan, if not from
his graceful features, then from his frilly shirt and black trousers with its
red sash, or maybe the light rapier he wore in his sash. Shacčans were about
the only people who used the light fencing weapons.

"Ah, Madam Dolanna, you return already," he
called in a thickly accented voice. "Andevouz."

"Andevouz," Dolanna repeated in a calm
voice. "We must leave immediately. As soon as our gear is brought
aboard."

"Ai, madam, you hurry me, no?," he
said, "but I am done with my loading, yes. Come, come, I will have your
horses loaded, yes, and we will talk as my Lady begins her journey." He
barked out a series of commands in a flowing, musical language, and a heavy
plank was quickly lowered for the horses. They carefully led the horses up the
narrow walkway, holding tightly to the reins, allowing canvas-shirted sailors
to take the reins from them once they got the horses on board. The tall
captain gave them all a cursory look, then he retreated to the raised
sterncastle and grabbed hold of the wheel that moved the rudder. He barked out
a few more commands, and another man started shouting a series of
instructions. Dolanna and the others went up to the captain's sterncastle deck
as the sailors hurriedly started untying ropes, slipping hawsers, and climbing
up into the impressive rigging to lower the sails. Shacčans built very good
ships, almost as good as Wikuni vessels.

"A dangerous group, yes," Renneč noted as he
watched his sailors free the ship from the dock. The vessel started drifting
with the current, sliding away from shore. "But not without its flowers
and jewels," he added, giving Tiella a look that made her blush suddenly.
"Mon am, what manner of creature do you bring to Renneč?" he
asked soberly, looking at Tarrin.

"This is Tarrin," she said calmly. "He
is my guest."

"Ah, then he is my guest as well. Andevouz,
Tarrin."

"Tarrin, take off your robe," Dolanna
instructed.

Tarrin hesitated a bit, but did as she commanded. He
never felt so self-conscious in his life. It was almost as if he was stripping
in front of them. Renneč's eyes widened slightly at Tarrin's appearance, but
he said nothing untowards. "Ai, I thought for a moment, you bring
a Wikuni aboard my Lady," he said with a snort. "I have three cabins
open for you, madam Dolanna. I have two other passengers as well, so it will
be crowded at the dinner table, no?" He spun the rudder wheel a bit as
they entered a shallow bend in the river. "It will be crowded, yes, but I
know you will make do."

"I appreciate your aid, Renneč, and that you do
not ask too many questions," Dolanna told him.

The Shacčan smiled at her roguishly. "No, madam,
it is I who must thank you. Renneč would be sleeping at the bottom of the river,
yes, if had not been for you. If this little thing pleases you, then it is
with an open hand that I give it to you, yes." He sniffed a bit.
"And only a fool demands to know the mind of a katzh-dashi, yes.
And I am no fool."

Faalken stifled a laugh, and Dolanna pinned him with an
icy stare. "Who are your passengers?" she asked.

"A merchant, yes, whose cargo we carry, and who is
most likely very happy I left early. The other is a traveller, yes, who paid
Renneč enough to sail for a year, and asked only for a cabin, meals, and not to
be bothered."

"I see," she said. "I thank you again
for your help, Renneč."

"De'cčst," he said with a smile.

Their cabins were cramped, but on a ship, everything
was cramped. There were three beds packed into a room a bit larger than a
closet, with cabinets and a small stand for a washbasin and lamp. A single
small porthole served as a window to the outside. Dolanna stepped into the
door and regarded Walten and Tarrin calmly as Faalken stowed his armor into a tiny
locker bolted to the floor at the base of his bed. "Feel free to move
about as you wish," Dolanna told them. "Just be careful of the
crew. Many of them do not speak our language, and Shacčans are known for their
quick tempers. And do not, under any circumstance, allow one of their women to
lead you off alone," she warned.

Dolanna cowed the jovial knight with an unholy stare,
and then continued. "The women will be friendly enough, but the men
aboard will look upon it with jealousy. Shacčan women adore playing one man
against another, so, for my own sanity, please refrain from getting
involved."

"Women sailors," Walten said with a bit of a
laugh, after Dolanna had left. Walten wasn't crazy enough to say something
like that in front of her. "What's next?"

"The Ungardt do it," Tarrin told him, a bit
waspishly. "I don't understand this Sulasian hang-up about gender. Women
aren't little china dolls, Walten. My mother should have shown you that by
now."

"Yes, but your mother is, well, your mother."

"She's just your average Ungardt woman,
Walten," Tarrin told him bluntly. "Ungardt ships have as many women
on them as they do men, and it seems like the Shacčans are much the same."

"They are," Faalken said. "And you do
what Dolanna said, Walten. The women here will try to get you alone, just to
make their current beau jealous, and he'll carve his mark into your cheek if he
finds out. And the woman will make sure he finds out."

"I just said they're not helpless," Tarrin
said. "I never said they weren't strange."

All three of them laughed, and Tarrin went back to
putting his clothes in the tiny chest at the foot of the bed he'd chosen for
himself. "Never try to understand a woman," Faalken said with a
chuckle. "It's like trying to make water flow uphill."

Tarrin lingered in the cabin for a bit, then went out
on deck for a while to enjoy the warm summer afternoon. The ship was sliding
through the river waters like a knife, making excellent time with both the
current and the wind helping them along. The ship bobbed slightly in the water,
creating a rocking motion that he rather liked. He looked up at the
complicated rigging guiding the billowed sails, making sense out the seemling
chaotic criss-cross of ropes and lines that held the two large sails at a
precise position relative to the wind. Sailors crawled around up in the ropes
constantly, because every turn of the river changed the ship's orientation to
the wind, and that demanded a change in the position of the sails. Tarrin
decided that running rigging for a riverboat had to be much harder than rigging
a ship on open water, where it moved more or less in a straight line.

It was going to rain tonight, he predicted, staring
back at the clouds gather in the west through a break in the trees. It would
be the first real rain since they left, and that was unusual. This was usually
a rainy part of the summer. It had been much warmer than usual too. Maybe the
two were related. Maybe the heat was making the rain dwindle down. But, on
the other hand, it had been a very wet spring, so maybe the lack of rain in the
early summer was just things evening out. He was no weather-watcher, like some
in the village.

"The fur, it is handsome on you," a woman's
voice called. Tarrin looked up, and he found himself staring back into a
rather pretty face. Her cheekbones were high, her chin sharp, and her nose
thin and straight. She had deep green eyes, like emeralds, and she had red
hair spilling out from under a kerchief tied around her head. She was
partially laying across a spar in the rigging above. Her face conjured up a
remembrance, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He felt like he was
supposed to know her, even though he'd never seen her before. "I like the
ears too," she remarked with a grin. Her voice was deep, strong, not
delicate like a face like hers would suggest, but the Shacčan accent was strong
in it. He saw that she was wearing a simple white cloth shirt with trousers
made of sailcloth canvas. Her feet were bare, like most of the sailors, and he
noticed that unlike the other sailors, she wore no jewelry at all, not even
earrings. Her ears weren't even pierced. "How are you called, furry
one?"

"Tarrin," he replied shortly.

"Tarrin," she said, trying the word out for
size. "I like your name. Do you play angecen?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he said, starting to
get a bit edgy.

"That is a shame, yes," she said, smiling at
him. "Perhaps I will teach you, later. But for now, I have work to
attend. We will see each other again, no?"

"Probably," he said non-commitally.

"We will, Tarrin," she promised, and Tarrin's
ears picked up. Her voice had no trace of the Shacčan accent.

He watched her gracefully climb higher into the
rigging, helping to shift the sail to match the new angle of the wind. It was
odd, but he dismissed it. His mother had gotten rid of her Ungardt accent, but
she could easily pick it back up whenever she wanted. That woman had probably
done the same.

They ate dinner with the captain and his merchant
passenger in the small officer's mess. Dinner consisted of a very savory fish
stew that all but melted in Tarrin's mouth, and he liked it so much he nearly
emptied the pot by himself. The merchant kept giving Tarrin wild looks, and
barely spoke two words together throughout the entire meal. And as soon as he
was done, he got up and left quickly. Tarrin sighed as he left, but there was
nothing that he could do about it.

"Dolanna, what is angecen?" he asked
curiously.

Renneč laughed richly. "Angecen?" he
repeated, then laughed again. "Angecen means Maiden's Kiss. It is
a game that women play to tease men."

Tarrin blushed furiously. "I didn't know,"
he muttered.

"What woman said this to you?" the captain
asked.

"The redhead," he replied.

"Ah, her," he said. "She is new to the
Lady. I hired her this morning. Stubborn as a rock, but she is a good sailor,
yes, very good." He gave Tarrin a look. "I am surprised she said
this to you, yes. She has not been on the Lady long enough to find a beau.
And, I am sorry to say, you are not what most ladies would look for in a
man."

"That's true enough," Tarrin agreed, looking
at the palm of his paw soberly. Not indeed.

Dolanna put her hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow
morning, I will start teaching you," she said. "Tiella, Walten, it
would behoove you to sit with us, for what I will teach Tarrin will do both of
you good as well. It is seven days to Ultern, so we will have plenty of spare
time."

And we're leaving behind those that were following us,
Tarrin added silently.

After dinner, Tarrin stood on the deck of the ship as
it coasted to a stop and anchored in the river on the gentle side of a bend,
anchoring for the night. The ship was well enough away from shore in the wide
section of river to ensure that getting aboard would be very difficult, but
there were sentries posted regardless. Tarrin looked up at the sky, up at the
silvery darkness where the clouds concealed the moons and the Skybands, and
felt the cool wind on his face. Wind carrying the green smells of the forest,
smells that always seemed to soothe him, even back when he was human. He
opened his eyes and looked down at his paws, studying the backs of them,
marvelling at them.

It was as if he'd never been anything else.

It was a calm revelation, he admitted, but he couldn't
even remember what it was like not to have a tail. What he felt, and smelled,
and heard, it was as if they were things that had always been there, and the
didn't seem so unusual or new to him now. He knew that that was just him
getting adjusted to his new condition, but he never expected to forget what it
was like to be human. The Cat had taken up its now-familiar place in his mind,
singing to him the song of the instincts, supplying him with information that
transcended human comprehension and thought, that which truly made him neither
human nor animal, but both. He felt the cool wind blow, felt the first drop of
rain touch his cheek, marvelling once again at himself.

How alive he felt.

He knew there was no going back. But he couldn't help
but feel that this was how he was always meant to be. Over the last few days,
such a short time, he had fallen into more than a mere acceptance of what he
was, he had found true joy in it. There was just something incredibly pleasing
about how the way the grass smelled in the morning dew, or the smell of a
thousand kinds of flowers blowing in the wind, or the scritch scritch
sound a squirrel's claws made on the bark as it moved. He began to find
pleasure in his body as well, at its strength and agility, at his tail, and
ears, and fur, and claws. It was no longer an alien thing to him, but his
body, the body that was more of a home to him now that his human one had ever
been.

He also knew that in a time of anxiety he would feel
much differently than he did now, when the dark part of his condition reared
its head and made him afraid, but that would be then, and this was now. It
would happen very soon, when he closed his eyes and went to sleep, and the
dreams returned to him, the nameless dreams that he could never remember, yet
never failed to startle him stone cold awake and in a cold sweat.

He stood at the rail a moment longer before going below
decks, smelling the rain, listening to the sharp staccato pattering of drops
hitting the wooden deck, the ropes, the water, even the leaves and branches of
the trees along the riverbank. Feeling it against his skin, feeling it in his
fur.

Chapter
5

Tarrin had suffered through another sleepless night.
He was desperately tired, but every time he settled into slumber, the dreams
would rise up again and shock him awake. And he could never remember what they
were about. In its own way, that was even more frustrating and frightening,
because the things that scared him so remained nameless, shapeless phantasms,
things that he could not identify. He ended up on the deck of the ship well
before dawn, standing at the rail and simply waiting for the sun to come up.
He was completely exhausted, but he was so terrified of sleeping that even the
thought of it made his blood go cold.

He had no idea how long he stayed at the rail, wilted
over it like a dying flower, until the first rays of the sun touched his face.
With the rising light came voices, and sounds, and the smells of the humans as
they rose from their sleep and went about the work of a new day. He watched
them all with a detached curiosity, as Renneč came from his cabin and the
officers and the crew started readying the ship for departure. His exhaustion
made it seem like he was watching everything through a filmy gauze over his
eyes, and it took him moments to think even the simplest things through.

The ship lurched, and Tarrin sank his claws into the
deck and railing. The ship's bow anchor had raised, and the ship was starting
to get pushed by the current. The ship had been stopped for the night with the
bow facing the current to minimize the effect of it on the ship, and now the
vessel was swinging around to put her stern to the current, to face downriver,
using the stern anchor as a pivot to keep the vessel stable. The stern anchor
was raised, and the ship pushed ahead with the current. The wind was very
faint, the air calm and the sky clear, so the sails were very slack as the ship
pushed downriver. Dolanna's clean scent touched his nose, but it took him a
moment to recognize it. "It is time for breakfast," she said.

"I'm not hungry," he replied.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away
from it. The grip hardened, and she made him turn and face her. She gave him
a look of concern. "How long has it been since you slept?" she
asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "I sleep a
little at night, but not for long."

"Dreams?" she asked, and he nodded.
"There are some medicines I can give you that will let you sleep without
dreams, but I do not want you to have to rely upon them. Tonight I will give
you a dose of it, and we will see how it helps you." She put a hand to
his cheek, feeling his temperature. "Why did you not tell me of
this?" she demanded. "Tarrin, if I am to help you, you cannot hide
things from me."

"I didn't think that you could do anything,"
he told her quietly.

She gave him another look. "Would you prefer to
try to sleep now?" she asked.

"No, I can wait," he assured her.

"Tell me about these dreams," she said.

Tarrin closed his eyes. "I don't remember them
when I wake up," he told her, "but whatever they are, they scare me
so bad that I'm stone cold sober and awake when I do wake up. It's strange...the
dreams just vanish like mist the instant I wake up, as if they'd never been.
All it leaves me is the memory of being afraid."

"Interesting," she said. "You remember
nothing at all? Not even a flash, an impression?"

"No," he replied. "I think I remembered
them on that first night, but since then, nothing."

"We cannot let you go on like this," she
said. "Lack of sleep has different effects on people, but a common one is
increased aggression. That is something that you can definitely do without.
If the medicines do not work, I will have to resort to magic."

"Why not use magic in the first place?"

"Tarrin, it is very complicated," she told
him. "To put it very briefly, I have an exceptionally difficult time
using magic on you that affects the mind. You are not human, Tarrin, and the
alien nature of your mind does not allow me to use mind-affecting weaves as I
could use them on humans. You do not think the same way that I do, and I must
have an idea of how a target thinks in order to weave together a spell that can
affect those thoughts. When I wove the spell that holds the instinctual side
of your mind in check, it nearly killed me. I had to rely on raw power to
overcome my unfamiliarity with your mind. And look at the results. I think the
spell totally unravelled at least two days ago. Such a short respite for so
much effort."

"It did?"

She nodded. "I am surprised that you did not
notice."

"Maybe I did," he said. "They've
been....loud lately. I've started doing things without thinking, things I
think that the Cat is making me do."

"What things?"

"Little things," he admitted. "Like
smelling before I open a door, or checking my room before I rest. I think the
Cat can hear my own thoughts, because sometimes it acts on what I'm thinking or
feeling. Like what happened with Jarax."

"He told me about that," she said.

"I wanted him to be quiet, but he wouldn't shut
up...so I growled at him."

"Are you sure that you are not hungry?" she
asked.

"I'm sure," he said.

"I will have the cook keep something for you, just
in case."

Tarrin heard a faint sound, almost like the fluttering
of a sheet in the wind. He looked up, but the sails were rather slack in the
still air; the sailors were not even tending them, they were standing around on
the deck waiting for a wind to come along. "What is it, Tarrin?"
Dolanna asked. He put a paw up to quell any further questions.

But after a few moments, he gave up on it. He had no
idea where it had come from...it could have been a branch slapping into
another. "I don't know, maybe I'm hearing things," he told her.
"You should--"

He heard it again, closer this time, and from another
direction. He looked up towards the bow of the ship--

--then he was diving to the side, carrying Dolanna with
him, as a loud crash shook the ship, and large pieces of the rigging and mast
slammed into the deck. Tarrin was up in an instant, as a huge reptillian-like
bird writhed in the rigging, shrieking a loud, high-pitched scream and
thrashing at the sails and ropes. "It's a Wyvern!" Dolanna shouted
in sudden fear and anger as the creature systematically destroyed the sails,
and broke off another piece of the mast. It gave another keening cry as chaos
erupted on the deck, sailors scrambling every which way to avoid whipping ropes
and falling spars. The creature was nearly twenty spans long, not counting its
tail, and its large wings beat heavily at the air with every stroke as it used
its huge, wickedly clawed feet to rip at the rigging. Its tail had a noticable
barbed tip, and its black scales gleamed in the morning light. Its red eyes
glared balefully as it screeched, thrashing apart the intricate rigging and
working its way to the deck. Sailors started to scramble towards the gangways,
getting away from the huge monstrosity. Tarrin watched helplessly as that
barbed tail shot down like a javelin and impaled one hapless man in the back.
He stiffened instantly, then fell limply to the deck when the sharp point was
pulled away, his skin already beginning to turn black from the venom.

He had to do something. It was too large for
the sailors to fight, and with it up there and them down here, there was
nothing that they could do except for get stung by that tail. Unthinkingly,
Tarrin popped out his claws, laid back his ears, and growled at the creature
menacingly, his eyes flaring up from within with an unholy greenish aura.
Those two slits of evil glared right into the creature's reddish eyes without
fear, challenging it without words. More sailors scrambled safely away as
Tarrin held its attention, and Dolanna groggily got back to her feet.

The monster crashed to the deck with enough force to
make the entire ship tremble, smashing planking under its feet as it dropped
from its perch in the ruined rigging. It towered over Tarrin, barely able to
fit on the deck, but Tarrin just growled at it menacingly, hunching down and
putting his paws out wide in an instinctive, reflexive battle stance.
"Tarrin, have you lost your mind!?" Dolanna shouted at him angrily,
even as she raised her hands at the creature and started weaving a spell.

The creature lunged its head at him, faster than a
striking snake, but Tarrin was even faster. He slipped just aside of those
wicked jaws and raked it right across the snout, almost getting its eye. He
got in another good rake on the end of its nose as it snapped back, howling in
pain, shaking its head as blood flew in all directions. Tarrin hunkered down
and grabbed a barrel, then lifted it as the expected tail-stinger lanced in at
him with blazing speed. He put the barrel in its path, and was pushed back as
the stinger slammed into the full barrel. Digging his claws into the deck, he
stopped the momentum of the stinger, amazingly with the barrel intact, then
threw the barrel and tail aside. The barrel was stuck on the end of the
Wyvern's tail, regardless of the creature's whipping attempts to free its
venemous stinger of the obstructing object.

A sheet of pure fire flashed out and up, right into the
monster's face, as Dolanna's spell was fully formed and unleashed. The Wyvern
howled in agony as the curtain of fire continued to sear at its scales and
crisp the flesh of the open wounds Tarrin had put in its face. It desperately
lunged forward, making Dolanna break the spell to literally dive over the edge
of the rail to escape the creature's snapping maw. Tarrin tried to slash it,
but the creature's great weight, put on only one side of the narrow-beamed
vessel, was making the whole ship list dangerously to that side. The rail was
almost in the water as the Wyvern started skidding forward, and that low level
allowed Tarrin to reach into the river and pluck Dolanna out of the current by
the back of her dress. Sinking his claws into the deck, he carried the wet
woman up the steeply angled decking, out of the thrashing Wyvern's reach. The
Wyvern had too much weight on one side, and as it tried to turn around to get
back into the middle of the ship, the railing broke against its leg and it
tumbled into the water.

The ship rocked wildly, catapulting Tarrin all the way
across the ship as many sailors, and Walten, were hurled over the sides, as
well as the horses and what wasn't nailed down that was on the deck. Tarrin
had to wildly throw out one paw and snag his claws into the rail to keep from
going over the other side. He managed to keep hold of Dolanna, but that grip
tightened as the Wyvern hooked its wing over the railing and pulled, dragging
the ship's starboard rail under the water's surface as it tried to clamber back
onto the ship. Many of the people below, who were eating breakfast, were just
now getting to the doors, among them Faalken, who were armed to the teeth to
repel the monstrous invader. But at that moment, they were all grasping onto
anything that would not slide across the deck. The ship listed higher and
higher, until the deck was almost vertical to the water, as the Wyvern tried to
drag itself back onto the ship. The horses were swimming frantically towards
the far bank, just putting distance between them and the Wyvern.

"Goddess, it is going to capsize the ship!"
Dolanna screamed in fright.

"Everyone over the rail!" Tarrin heard
Renneč's terrified voice scream over the din, then he shouted it again in the
language of his own people. He looked down, right into the Wyvern's face,
seeing that one of its eyes had been burned away, and smoke was wafting from
the charred flesh of the wounds he had given it. It was mad from pain, and it
did not realize that capsizing the ship would most likely kill it as the ship's
weight rolled over it and pinned it underneath. Sailors were diving off the
ship in every direction, even right past the Wyvern, but the creature's eyes
were fixed balefully on Tarrin and Tarrin alone.

Grabbing Dolanna by the waist, he set his feet into the
deck with his claws and grabbed her with both paws. "What are you
doing?" she demanded as he hefted her over his head.

"I'm saving your life!" he answered. Then he
threw her, with every ounce of strength in him. She sailed far downstream, a
good thirty spans, and crashed noisily into the water well clear of the Wyvern.

Tarrin grabbed onto the rail and pulled himself over it
as the Wyvern's wing hooked around the mast, and it hefted to drag its weight
back out of the water. The ship lurched violently, rolling up even higher as
it was pulled down by the monster's weight. Tarrin saw Faalken and Tiella jump
over the side, as Renneč tried to keep hold of the railing, then lost his grip
and dropped out of view. Tarrin glanced away for a moment, back towards
shore. He thought that he may be able to jump to one of the branches
overhanging the river. He turned his back to the Wyvern, set himself in a
sitting crouch, and then sprang.

He extended fully in the air, his paws reaching for
anything to which they could grab hold. He just barely reached the foliage
with his spring, but he got paws full of twigs and leaves, the branches to
which they were attached supporting the sudden increase in weight. The tip of
Tarrin's tail brushed the water as he bobbed down, then he hauled himself up
and onto a sturdy branch, then he turned and looked.

The Wyvern had pulled the ship about as far as it could
go without rolling. Tarrin could see half of the ship's keel and the rudder.
Then the ship shimmied to one side, and it rolled over on the Wyvern with a
thunderous crash that sent white spray high into the air. The Wyvern screeched
once before the ship rolled over onto it, then the ship rocked upside down
several times. Then it began to move.

The Wyvern was pushing the ship from underneath.

Tarrin looked at Dolanna, who had managed to swim
upstream somewhat. The sailors were all swimming for the opposite bank, the
bank farther from the Wyvern, the bank where Renneč was standing and calling to
his crew. Tarrin was about to say something, but the hideous stench of Trolls
struck his nose like a hammer.

He looked down, and saw three of them, approaching the
tree where he was. All of them were armed with spears, and he could hear more
of them over the shouts of sailors and the rocking swish of the ship.

He couldn't jump into the water, not with that Wyvern
between him and the other shore. And he couldn't fight so many Trolls alone.
That left only one recourse. Flight. But if he fled, he doubted that he could
rejoin Dolanna and the others. With the ship capsized, they would most likely
flee in every direction, and they were all soaked, which would make it
impossible for him to track by scent.

Dolanna had seen the Trolls, he was certain, for it
explained what she shouted to him. "The Tower!" she called.
"Go to the Tower! Go west to the coast, and then south to Suld! I will
see you there!"

Tarrin nodded, even as the first spear arced in.
Tarrin ducked under it frantically. It had been an elaborate trap, and an effective
one. If it didn't kill him, it did separate him from the others, leaving him
to survive on his own. He vaulted higher into the tree, scrambling into the
high branches with the grace of a squirrel, using his claws and strength and
agility to get out of sight of those spears. They chased him up the tree,
several missing him only by a whisker. Then he felt the whole tree shudder.
He looked down, and saw five Trolls working the tree back and forth, trying to
uproot it. He'd have scoffed at such a notion, for the tree was old and it was
huge, but the tree was already swaying alarmingly. He had no doubt that they
could do it. He looked around frantically, and noticed that the branches of
another tree were rather close by.

High over the ground, Tarrin vaulted from one tree to
the next with surprising ease, landing on all fours on a sturdy branch. The
Trolls below all shouted and pointed at him, and it occurred to Tarrin that, as
old as this forest was and how thick and large the trees were, he could go
quite a distance before having to touch the ground. And if he could get a few
minutes out of sight of the Trolls, he could lose them. But travelling in the
trees wasn't as fast as moving on the ground, he discovered quickly, and Trolls
had outstanding eyesight.

For two long hours, Tarrin scrambled through the
branches, trying to get far enough ahead of the Trolls to hide, or come down
onto the ground and run at a faster speed without getting a spear in his back.
But there were a lot of Trolls; the air was literally befouled by the
stench of so many. There had to be a hundred of them, and most of them were
following him with their surprisingly fast lumbering gait, and they tried to
knock down any tree he stopped in for any amount of time. They couldn't get
him down, and he couldn't get away from them. He moved in totally random
directions, often going in circles. Once he stopped to rest, but a spear had
blasted in and came about two fingers' width from his nose. It had almost
startled him out of the tree.

Tarrin was almost exhausted, feeling the effects of
lack of sleep, running on pure adrenalin and depending on the Cat's skills of
the forest. It helped him know which branches weren't safe to jump to, it kept
him from going in a predictable direction and letting them get ahead of him.
He saw daylight in front of him, too low to be anything but a break in the
woods. He kept moving towards it, planning to cut in one direction or another
when he reached the edge, but he stopped once he got there.

It was either the same river or another one. He had no
idea. It didn't look quite like the other river, though, for the water was not
as muddy on this river. What made him stop was that the river was deep, very
deep, and it was at least fifty spans across. Just like the other river, the
branches of the trees overhung the river a goodly ways, a good ten spans over
the bank, on both sides. That left thirty spans of open air...and if he went
high, he could come down and grab a lower branch, which would give him at least
five more spans of distance....

It was insane, but he was getting tired, and if he
stopped, they would kill him. He was hopelessly lost, and there was nobody to
help him this time. If he didn't separate himself from them enough to where he
could really get away from them, he was going to die.

Tarrin climbed higher and higher into the tree. He'd
already chosen his branch, a long, heavy one that would take his weight almost
to the very end, one that had several prime candidates for grabbing almost
directly across from it. He could hear the Trolls rumbling towards him, a few
of them almost under him; as soon as they had enough, they'd try to topple the
tree. He reached the branch and squatted for a moment, preparing himself. If
he missed, and fell into the river, he'd be speared before he could reach the
other bank. He had to wait for the Trolls to get involved with knocking down
the tree, so that he'd have enough time to recover from the jump and get out of
sight before they could throw spears at him, or figure out a way to get across
the river and chase him. They would get across the river. If they were smart,
they'd find a long enough tree and knock it over the water. But that would
take time, and all he needed was enough time to get onto the ground and away
without taking a spear in his spine. He was much too fast for them to chase
him down once he got a lead on them. At least he fervently hoped so.

The tree shuddered violently. That was Tarrin's cue.
Taking a deep breath, Tarrin swallowed his panic and sprinted over the uneven
branch, running along it as surely as if it were solid ground. He spaced his
strides carefully so that he'd hit the very end and be able to jump. He felt
his heart go into his throat as his foot hit the jump mark he'd mentally made,
and he pushed off from the branch with every bit of power and desparation that
his tired body could muster, giving out a cry of effort as he hurled himself
into the air.

Stretching out in the arc of his jump, his paws led the
way as he sailed over the bubbling waters of the river, some fifty spans
underneath him. Even from there, he could tell that it was going to be close.
Had he been fresher, he could have put his feet on his target branch with such
a run at it. But his exhaustion had removed that advantage. Even his inhuman
strength had its limitations. He started descending, and for an instant he
panicked, thinking that he wasn't going to make it. He missed his target
branch by nearly two spans, but his forward momentum lined him up to grab one
of the ones underneath it. He stretched out as much as he could, even his
claws reaching out, reaching out for that branch.

He snagged it in his claws, and instantly his hand
closed around it. He came flying down, then was snapped back by his hold on
the branch. The limb cracked and splintered under his sudden impact on it,
bowing it down deeply, but it had served its purpose. It had kept him from
going into the river. He swung wildly on the branch for several moments,
grabbing it in both paws. He caught a glimpse of something as he started
slowing down, and just barely managed to identify it as a spear. He twisted
his entire body around that arcing weapon, shocked and impressed that a Troll
could throw such a huge spear so far. Natural invulnerability or no, if he was
hit by something like that, the shock alone would probably kill him, if
it didn't slow him down with him trying to pull it out. He pulled his body up
and out of the trajectory of another spear, then physically curled his body up
and around the limb above him. He hooked his waist around it, swung over, then
hauled himself up, then jumped straight up reflexivey an instant before yet
another spear tore him in half at the belly. The spear slammed into the trunk
with a loud thok, and Tarrin's feet came down to land on the haft of
it. It was embedded so deeply into the tree that it supported his weight.

Tarrin used it as a springboard to get him to the
branch higher up, the branch he'd targeted, then scampered around and behind
the tree trunk, safely out of the Trolls' line of sight. He peeked back around
the other side, lower down, seeing them standing at the bank of the river,
howling curses and screaming, stamping their bare feet in frustration. They were
too busy being mad to think of finding a way across the river, but that
wouldn't last for long. He had to move, and he had to move now.

He hesitated an instant, weighing his options. He
could try to find Dolanna again, but he had no idea where he was, and he
certainly didn't want to lead a hundred Trolls right to her. He thought about
following the river down to the original one--he was certain that the two
joined somewhere--but he had no idea if Dolanna would be there once he evaded
the Trolls with his roundabout route and tried to find her. She told him to go
to the Tower. She expected him to go to the Tower. He seriously doubted that
he would be able to find her, for she would obviously take another ship
downriver, and he couldn't keep up with it. She would meet him at the Tower.

So that was where he decided he had to go.

Looking up, he got his bearings using the Skybands.
Since they crossed the sky from east to west, and he could see from the morning
sun which of those two directions was which, he knew which way to go. Go west
to the coast, and then south to Suld.

Turning away from the morning sun, Tarrin left the
howling Trolls behind, dropped to the ground, and ran south, with every
intention of doubling back on a good bit of his trail and then going into the
trees to give the Trolls fits when they got across the river. They knew that
he could go in any direction...and he'd have too much of a lead on them for
them to seriously give chase to him.

He did just that, doubling back on almost two miles of
trail, then going into the trees and moving west. He did that all morning and
well into the afternoon, past the point where his muscles burned and his breath
came in hard, short pants. Every moment he kept moving was more time he could
safely rest. That one thought, that goal, dominated his mind, kept him
moving. Get out of danger, and then rest. Resting too soon will leave them
too close. His whole thought process centered around the next branch. Find
the next branch, jump to the next branch, walk across the next branch, climb up
the next branch. He was afraid to stop, even a moment, fearing that that
moment would become longer, and they'd be surrounding the tree he was sleeping
in when he woke up, shaking him out of it.

It was a hazy, totally exhausted Tarrin who looked up a
moment and realized that it was sunset. He moved the entire day, on a course
that was as due west as he could manage in the trees. He was famished,
thirsty, and totally drained, but hunger and thirst couldn't hold a candle to
the bone-weariness that threatened to topple him out of the tree. Tarrin
dropped to his knees on the wide branch, a branch even wider than he was,
connected to a tree that had to be a thousand years old, laid out on its length
right where he was, and fell into an instant deep slumber.

There had been no dreams. None that he could remember,
anyway, and if there were, they were incapable of rousing him from his comatose
sleep. Tarrin's eyes fluttered open, aware of the rosy light that was painting
the green foliage in front of him, hearing and smelling the life of the forest
that he had all but ignored in his mad flight the day before. It was quiet,
peaceful, and there was no sound of Troll feet and no stench of Troll bodies.

He'd not moved an inch from where he had fallen to the
branch, and he was sore in more places than he could count. His belly growled
dangerously at him, and his throat felt like someone had stuffed wool against
it. But he was alive, and he'd evaded the Trolls, and that made it tolerable.
Even being lost and alone in the wilderness was more than preferable to his
head hanging around some Troll's neck, as it jokingly exagerrated the
difficulty of the spear cast that had killed him. Getting up onto his paws and
knees, he yawned loudly and stretched, feeling his back crackle and pop from
the long hours in an uncomfortable position, his claws digging furrows out of
the bark.

His head snapped up. There was another smell, almost
right on top of him, but it had been there so long he'd dismissed it, even in
sleep. It was a smell very much like his own.

"Good morning," came an amused voice.

Tarrin looked behind him, and she was standing
there. She was wearing clothes now, a white shirt and a pair of canvas
breeches, but she was just as beautiful and terrifying as he remembered. The
nightmarish memories of that chaotic battle washed over him, and his arm
throbbed and burned in memory of her bite, the bite that had changed him. Her
shirt was stained in many places, and the breeches were tattered about the
ankles, but her skin and fiery red hair and white fur were clean, and her
crystalline green eyes looked down at him with a guarded expression. He could
tell that she was tense, as if expecting him to attack.

The thought did occur to him, but he was in no position
nor condition to start a fight. He was still very weak from the long flight
and lack of food or water, and he knew it. An indignant "you!"
escaped his lips, carrying with it all the hatred and enmity he felt for her, a
hatred that had flared up inside him like a bonfire. She had done this
to him, had changed him. That it was not her conscious choice did not matter.

"I see you remember me," she said, a bit
ruefully.

"What did you expect?" he demanded hotly, managing
to get to his feet. He couldn't hide how much of an effort it was just to
stand. "You have alot of nerve, woman. If I wasn't so tired, I'd kill
you."

"You would try," she said flatly. "You
don't bring enough to the table to kill me, cub, especially not right
now. Be thankful I like you. I've killed others for less than what you just
said to me." She crossed her arms beneath her ample breasts and leaned
back against the tree trunk. "I'm not here to fight, anyway," she
told him. "I'm here to meet you."

"We've met," he growled at her.

"Mind your manners," she snapped at him.
"I'm not going to be able to do anything with you if you can't be
civil." She pointed at him. "You are Tarrin," she said.
"My name is Jesmind. "

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, come now, cub," she said in a flat
voice. "Give me some credit. I've been watching you since the day you
left Torrian."

"I didn't see you, or smell you."

"That's because I didn't want to be found,"
she told him simply. "You did very well getting away from the Trolls. I
was about to put a paw in, but you got away on your own. I'm impressed."

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

"I want to teach you," she said. "Well,
there's no 'want' involved in that. It's a matter of 'must'. For the time
being, consider me to be your mother."

"Mother?" he said in a strangled
voice.

"There are things that you have to know," she
told him with a challenging, cool look. "It's my responsibility to teach
them to you. Until you're old enough, or experienced enough, to be out on your
own, you are my responsiblity. What you do will come back to me, because I'm
the one that is responsible for you being what you are." She gave him a
moment to let that sink in. "There's no choice in the matter, Tarrin. You
must know these things. But as soon as I'm confident that you understand them,
and I'm sure you won't go mad, then you'll be free to do as you will. You'll
never have to see me again. Unless you want to, that is."

Tarrin steadied himself, considering her words. He
hated her, but there were things that he wanted to know. "I don't mind,
not all that much," he said in a quiet voice, "but I'm travelling
west. If you're going that way too, then we can travel together."

"Is that so?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"My home lies to the east, cub. That's where we need to go."

"I can't," he said. "I have to go to
the Tower. The reason I left home was because I can do Sorcery. They were
taking me to the Tower. If I don't go there, I'll do magic and hurt someone
without knowing what I'm doing. Besides, someone out there doesn't want me to
get to the Tower," he told her wearily. "Those Trolls were after me,
and it's not the first attack. You should know that," he said.
"The only place I'll be safe is in the Tower."

"I'll worry about keeping you safe," she told
him. "Once we get out of human lands, nobody will ever find you."

"Didn't you listen at all?" he demanded.
"I don't have a choice. I have to go to the Tower. That's more
set in stone than anything that has anything to do with you. Now if
you're willing to travel in that direction, then we can travel together, and
I'll learn what you have to teach me. If you're not, then we'll just part ways
here and now and hopefully never see each other again."

"Don't dictate terms to me, boy," she said in
a dangerous tone. "You'll go where and when I say you'll go."

"Then you'd best either let me go or try to kill
me now," he shot back, standing straight and tall before her. He realized
how tall she was as he faced off against her. Her eyes were on the same level
as his, and she was only on very slightly higher ground. He hadn't noticed
that before; his memories of her didn't include any where she was standing up
straight, or very many that included her by herself or without pain involved.
In his memory, she was twice as big as he was. It was reassuring that she was
his own size.

She gave him a dark look, then she laughed ruefully.
"Oh, my, this is going to be interesting," she said. "Mother
always wished for me to have a child as stubborn as I was. Well, I think she
got her wish. Both of us have to travel south," she said. "Let's
travel south for now. When the time comes when we'd have to part, let's take
this up when we get there."

"I don't object to that," he said, after a
moment of weighing her offer carefully. "Just answer me one question.
Who sent you after me?"

"I don't really know," she sighed. "I
was careless, and someone managed to use magic against me to hold me still
while someone put the collar on me from behind. It was on a deserted street in
Goram."

"That's in Tor," Tarrin objected. Tor was a
small kingdom on the southern coast, not far from Arkis. It was also almost a
thousand leagues to the south and east.

"I know," she said. "I don't have any
memory of much after that. Just little images. I remembered you, though,
because the Sorceress took off that thrice-damned collar with you in the room.
If she'd have left it on, I probably would never have known you existed."

"A pity," he grunted.

"No, lucky for you," she snapped back.
"You seem to be dealing with the dual nature of our kind, but there are
things about us that you need to know. There are rules that we live by, rules
imposed on us by the Fae-da'Nar. If I wasn't here to teach you, then
you wouldn't know these things, and that would hurt you later on."

"Fae-what?"

"Fae-da'Nar," she repeated.
"Think of it as an association of intelligent beings of the forest,"
she told him. "Centaurs, the other Were-kin, Faeries, Pixies, Dryads,
Sylphs, and many others. We all live with a very loose communal government, so
there's very little friction and we can all live in peace, and we don't
irritate the humans and cause trouble that way. Look, there's a great deal I have
to teach you, and it's not going to happen right here, right now. You're about
to fall over, and I'm tired from tracking you down over the last night and
day. Let's get something to eat, get some water, and we'll start south."

"Alright," he said.

They climbed down out of the trees, and Jesmind led him
towards the smell of water. It was a large stream with large rocks littering
the shores. "Ah, water, and it looks like we have breakfast too,"
she said.

"Where?"

"Don't you know how to fish?"

"Of course, but I don't have a hook."

"Humans," she sighed. "You have to make
tools for everything. Come on, I'll teach you how to really fish."

Tarrin watched as Jesmind laid down on a rock by a
large, deep pool, then slithered up to the edge. He stood just behind her,
watching as she watched the water. Tarrin could see several silvery shapes
moving about under the water. Jesmind lifted up one paw, watched intently for
a second, then her hand shot into the water so fast it sounded like the surface
of the water was ripped. She snatched her paw back just as quickly, and a
rather large fish sailed over his head, then hit the bank and started to flop
around.

"That's all there is to it," she said.
"Just make sure that you aim below where you see the fish. The surface of
the water bends what you see, making the fish look like it's somewhere else.
Here, you try."

Tarrin traded places with her, watching the darting
shapes, a bit nervous now, with tail-twitching interest. His first few
attempts were badly off the mark, but he swallowed his frustration and
concentrated on the task at hand, analyzing how much he had missed with the
different attack angles he'd used. He got a pretty good idea how much he was
off from his past attempts, so he adjusted his trajectory, waited for the right
moment, then struck like a viper. His paw slammed into the water, his claws
hooked into something that gave, then he yanked it out. Tarrin looked back to
where it was falling, and saw a rather large silver-backed fish flopping around
next to the one that Jesmind had caught, which was already starting to go
still.

"Not bad," she praised. "Catch us a few
more, and then we'll eat."

"Alright," he said, turning his attention
back to the pool.

After about ten minutes, Tarrin had six trout laying on
the bank. Jesmind used her claws to gut and clean each fish as it bounced onto
the bank, her claws like knives as she cut off the heads and tails and fileted
the remainder with precise skill. Tarrin stopped to drink deeply from the pool
after fishing, then returned to her where she was sitting on a rock at closer
to the trees. "I usually don't eat it raw," she admitted, "but
it's well enough in a pinch."

"Raw?" he said with a shudder.

"Don't knock it til you try it," she said,
holding out a fileted strip of fish.

Tarrin was surprised. He expected to gag the instant
it his his mouth, but it actually wasn't that bad. He wolfed down his meal
quickly as Jesmind watched him, his ravenous hunger coming back in a rush.
"It's not like we live in the woods and act like animals," she told
him as they ate. "I live in a nice cottage in about the center of the
Sylvan lands. What you Sulasians call the Frontier. I hunt, and fish, and
just live, and when the urge hits me, I wander around the Twelve Kingdoms and
see what's going on with the humans. I built the cottage myself," she
added with a bit of pride.

"Why doesn't anyone know about you--us?" he
asked.

"Because there aren't very many of us," she
said. "We're the rarest of all the Were-kin. And because of this,"
she said, holding out her arms, "we're often mistaken as exotic
Wikuni."

He looked at her face, closely. Take away the ears,
and she was the twin of the sailor that was on the ship. She was even wearing
the same clothes. "You were the sailor on the ship," he accused.

"Yes, I was wondering when you would figure that
out," she said with a smirk.

"How did you--"

"It's not easy," she cut him off. "So
don't even think about trying. The human shape, it's not natural to us anymore.
At one time it was, but that was long ago. We've changed since then. We can
take the human shape, but it's very painful, and it's also very exhausting. I
seem to have a knack for it," she shrugged. "I can hold the human
shape for over four days, but it leaves me sore and aching for a week. My
mother can't hold the human shape for more than six hours, and she's been
practicing for over six hundred years."

"Six hundred years?" he said in
consternation.

"Oh, that," she said. "We don't age
like humans do, Tarrin. How old do you think I am?"

He looked at her. She had a youthful glow about her,
even though her features were obviously mature. It made it hard to put an age
on her. "I don't know," he said. "About twenty-five, I
think."

She laughed. "You're trying to be sweet on
me," she accused. "I honestly don't know how old I am. I think I'm
somewhere around five hundred. Maybe more."

He gaped at her.

"I lost track," she shrugged. "The next
time I see the Red Comet, I'll know. I was born two years before it passed,
and it passes every fifty-nine years. I've seen it eight times, and it's going
to be coming around again fairly soon."

"In two years," he said absently, doing the
math. "That makes you five hundred and thirty-one years old," he
said soberly.

"Something like that," she shrugged.
"My mother is over a thousand. She's the oldest of us."

"How?" he asked.

"It's just our nature," she replied simply.
"Once we reach a certain age, we just stop aging. We live until something
kills us."

He continued to eat, wondering over that information.
That meant that he was the same. He would live until he was killed.
But the way things had gone lately, that could be at any time.

"Any other questions come to mind?" she asked
calmly.

"No, not at the moment," he said, chewing on
another strip of fish. He was still in a bit of shock over the concept that
Were-cats didn't grow old, or die of age.

"I think you understand the basics," she said
absently. "I have the feeling that that Sorceress managed to give you a
little instruction. You certainly understand your physical gifts," she
noted. "We'll start with shape-shifting. It's not that hard, and you
should be old enough. You look it."

"You don't know?"

"I've never worked with a Changeling before,"
she said with a small frown. "Kimmie was a Changeling, but Mist was the
one that acted as her mother. Mist is like that sometimes," she mused.
"There are things we can and can't do that depend on our age," she told
him. "We can't shapeshift until puberty, and taking the human shape isn't
possible for a couple of hundred years afterward. I don't know about you,
because you weren't born into it. And I can't remember just when Kimmie had
managed the human shape." She finished off her strip of fish, and leaned
back against a rock. "We'll try this evening," she decided.
"You need to understand what all goes into it, and it's easier to do it
when we're stopped."

"Why?"

"So you don't lose your clothes," she
replied.

He gave her a blank look.

"The clothes don't change with us, Tarrin,"
she warned him. "You have to take them off."

He blushed furiously.

She laughed richly. "You're one of them,"
she said with a grin. "I've never understood the human hang-up about
clothes. Really, they don't have anything I haven't seen a thousand times
over, and besides, I'm not going to go into heat at the sight of a man's bare
backside."

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Tarrin had discovered one thing about Jesmind over the
course of the day, as they walked south at a very leisurely pace. She was blunt.
She tended to say exactly what she thought or felt, and had no reservations of
making observations that wouldn't go over well with him. She also had the
unnerving habit of speaking almost graphically about things Tarrin wouldn't
even think about. And it never occured to her that she was making him
uncomfortable. He felt he would die when she started inquiring, very bluntly
and thoroughly, about his past love life.

"Why do you want to know that?" he
finally demanded.

"Because I need to know," she shrugged.
"If you've never slept with a woman, I need to know. But, judging by your
reaction, I'd bet that you haven't," she grunted.

She missed his murderous glare. "That's not what
I'm talking about," he said flintily.

"You're so touchy," she snorted.
"Didn't you do anything when you were a human? It must have been
unbelievably boring."

"I guess humans have different customs and
standards than you do," he said frostily, leaving out the implication that
she had no morals or standards.

"Yes, I've noticed that myself from time to time.
You know, once I was ran out of a town because I took my shirt off to wash at a
stream? Humans are the strangest creatures."

"Didn't it occur to you that maybe the town had
standards of modesty?"

"You mean it's wrong to take off your shirt?"

"In public, in some places, yes, it is," he
told her.

She snorted. "I'm amazed humans manage to
breed," she said. "I wouldn't be surprised if women had to keep
their legs closed in bed, or men have to keep their pants on."

He blushed furiously, right up to the base of his
ears. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I will be, as soon as you shut up," he
grated.

She gave him a look, and laughed delightedly.
"Tarrin, in that respect, you were right. My people, my kind, what we
consider 'right' and 'wrong', it's much different than what the humans
believe. Because we are shapeshifters, we spend some amount of time without
clothes...so I guess we're used to it. I could look at you naked and not even
get a stir. Because I don't associate being naked with sex the way humans do.
To me, clothes are for utility, not for concealment. It wouldn't make me bat
an eyelash to walk down the busiest street in the world nude." She chuckled.
"I'll admit, I was teasing you a bit there. I've been around long enough
to understand the human customs. It's just fun to make you blush," she
said with a wink and a grin. "But you should start getting used to the
idea of being nude in company," she said. "You'll have to be nude
when you shapeshift, and I'll be nude as well. So you'd best resign yourself
to the idea of being in close proximity to me without clothes on either of
us." She wrinkled her nose slightly. "And you are definitely
taking them off at night," she said. "They need to be washed, and
I'm not sleeping with that smell under my nose."

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"If you think I'm sleeping alone, you've got
another thing coming," she told him flatly. "It's cozier with
another." She gave him a strange look, as he gaped at her. "Oh,
come on now," she said accusingly. "If I wanted to bed you, I
certainly wouldn't be playing at it like a love-sick human. When I want you,
I'll let you know in no uncertain terms. It's not the custom of my kind to
play games about it, and we don't assign the same significance to it that the
humans do. It's simply something that is very enjoyable, and if you keep
making me talk about it, I may change my mind."

That effectively cowed him. "I'm sorry, but
you're moving a bit too fast for me," he said carefully.

"Obviously. Don't assume something just because
you think you know what I'm thinking, cub," she told him gruffly.
"What I consider important is much different than what you do. The faster
you understand that, the quicker you'll learn." She gave him a look.
"Actually, just shapeshifting a while will show you that. The cat in us,
it's stronger when we're in the cat shape," she told him. "Alot of
things I'm talking about will make more sense when you see them through eyes
closer to my own."

"I have a question," he said.

"What is it?"

"Are you always this cross?"

She gave him a look, then laughed. "Not
usually," she said. "To be honest, I'm a bit nervous about you, and
a bit worried for you."

That broke a small chip off the big block of animosity
he felt for her.

"Worried?"

"Tarrin, I didn't wish this on you, but we can't
change the past," she told him with a sigh. "What matters to me now
is helping you learn how to live with it. I didn't do it by choice, but I was
still the one that changed you. I have to take responsibility for that. And
that means that I have to help make it as painless for you as I can."

Now he was mad at her. He'd built up a perfectly
acceptable reason to hate her, and she'd managed to destroy it with that one
eloquent sentence.

They travelled for the rest of the day moving in a
southerly direction, through virgin forest that had probably never known the
footsteps of man. Tarrin listened to Jesmind during those times that she
spoke, describing the trick of willing the change into cat-shape, and warning
him in advance about how the change would affect his body and mind. When he
wasn't listening to her, he was watching her. He had to admit that he was
fascinated by her. He was used to dealing with strong women, but his mother
was nothing like this. Every move she made was like a demonstration of
her power, and she carried herself as if she owned the world. Every little
move she made was a clear symbol of her dominion. She was strong, wise,
authoritative, and she knew it. But on the other hand, her movements and some
of the looks she gave him were not overbearing, but interested, curious,
compassionate. She was a woman of strength, but she didn't beat him over the
head with it. She was content with herself and her life, and that fact was
obvious in her demeanor.

"I'm starting to think I have a hole in my
shirt," she said bluntly after a time.

"Sorry, just seeing what it looks like from the
outside," he told her.

"The same as it does on me," she said.
"Except for certain differences," she added as an afterthought,
motioning at her breasts.

Tarrin looked away from her, wondering at the wild
changes of attitude he'd felt towards this woman just since the morning. From
hate, to distrust, to suspicion...and now to the first inklings of respect, and
even a bit of trust. He trusted this woman, he discovered. In very
many ways, he was a child, and almost instinctively, he was reaching out
to someone that he thought could make everything better, someone to quiet the
fears, someone to put an arm around him and guide him. Jesmind represented
that person, he realized. She was that person, the only person, that
could help him make sense out of the chaos that had become his life. Her
sincere regret and resolve to help him had helped break down the anger he'd
felt for her just that morning, allowing him to look on her with new eyes.

And look at her with new eyes. She was
beautiful. There was no doubt about that. And he was starting to dread having
to disrobe in front of her.

"The cat is strong when we carry its form,"
she told him later that day, after his long contemplation of her and his
situation. "The longer we stay a cat, the stronger it gets. Expect to
have to take a lesser role concerning some of the instincts when in that
shape. But for you, I think it will help, because those things that try to
affect your mind now will be much clearer to you when you allow them to express
themselves, instead of bottling them in."

"I hope so," he said sincerely.

"Have you been having dreams?"

"Yes, but I can't remember them," he replied.

"They do go away, in time," she assured him.
"They're your mind getting used to the instincts. As you settle in with
them, the dreams will get weaker and weaker, until they go away." They
stopped for a moment next to a huge oak tree, that was on the edge of a small
clearing that was dominated by a fallen log and a large carpet of moss. The
light was starting to dwindle. They had walked all day. "This looks like
a good place to stop," she said. Then she pulled the strings of the laces
on her white shirt.

"What are you doing?" Tarrin asked.

"I'm taking off my clothes," she told him
with a steady look. "You do the same. Chop-chop, I want to get you
through this at least once before sunset." And with that, she pulled the
shirt over her head.

Tarrin made himself look. In just a moment, there
wasn't going to be anywhere on her that would be safe to put his eyes, and he
wasn't about to fuel her amusement. She stared right at him as she pulled her
long, thick red hair out of the neck of the shirt, and he returned her gaze
with the same calm. He did well, right up until she unbuttoned her trousers.
He looked away right as she pushed them over her hips, working on the laces of
his own shirt.

"Look at me," she commanded. "It won't
do you any good not to look. You're going to see me, no matter how hard you
try not to."

He met her gaze shyly, and she smiled at him. It
wasn't an amused or malicious smile, it was one of compassion. "I know it
makes you uncomfortable, but the quickest way to get over that is to meet it
head on," she told him. "Don't look at my face. Look at me, all
of me. I'm not embarassed, so you don't have to be either."

She stood there calmly as he did as she said. He
looked at her. From toes to the top of her hair, he looked at the muscular
form of her body. He noticed that her muscles were very defined, but not
overly developed. She did have a washboard stomach, but it gave her a very
slender waist compared to her full hips, and the muscles in her back heightened
the seeming smallness of her middle. She even turned around slowly for him,
allowing him the full view. He noticed how shapely her backside was, even with
the white-furred tail sticking out of the top of it. Just like his own tail,
the fur on her tail stopped right at the base of it, with no fur anywhere
else. "Just one thing, Tarrin," she said. "Looking is one
thing. Touching is altogether different."

"I didn't even think of it," he said
sincerely.

"I didn't say it was bad," she said huffily.
"I just said it was different."

"It sounded like you meant it was bad," he
grumbled.

"Then I'm sorry," she said. "But
touching is the same for us as what looking at a naked woman does for a human
male," she warned him. "It goes for you as much as it does for me. Believe
it or not, I think you'll find that standing there with no clothes on isn't
half as bad as you think. Even with me standing here. But the instant I
touched you in a place you considered to be intimate, well, let's just say that
it would give you a different reason to blush."

He blushed anyway, pulling off his shirt.

"The same goes for me," she said. "I
don't recommend you putting your paws on my more sensitive parts, unless you
want to fend me off with a stick."

"I find it hard to believe that," he said
with a sniff, unbuttoning his trousers and steeling himself for the act of
disrobing in front of her.

"It's been a long time since I've had a man,"
she warned bluntly. "Believe it or not, human women get the same urges as
human men. Well, among my kind, females get that urge even more often than
human men, and we're not afraid to go after what we want." She crossed
her arms, waiting deliberately. "I'm being nice to you because you're
still unfamiliar with what's happened to you, but if you'd have been any other
male, we'd be--"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it,"
he said through gritted teeth. In one fast, jerky move, he whisked off his
trousers, and stood there, self-consciously, under Jesmind's appraising eye.
"And why is that?"

"Is what?"

"Why do the women, um--"

"Oh, that," she said. "Because there
are seven women for every man."

"What?"

"There are seven females for every male," she
repeated. "So we have to share." She put a finger to her chin,
staring at him in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"Turn around," she ordered. he did so, gritting his teeth.
"My," she said. "My, my, my."

"What?"

"You've got a very handsome body, Tarrin,"
she complemented.

"Can we get on with this?" he asked
plaintively.

"You're ruining my fun, do you know that?"
she said with an evil little smile.

"I'm glad one of us in enjoying this," he
growled.

"Just give it time," she told him. "The
best way to get used to it is to just do it. And it gives me something nice to
look at."

"Do you mind?" he demanded.

"Not at all," she said, looking him up and
down in such a way that he blushed to the roots of his hair. She laughed then,
and then motioned at him with her paw. "Alright, I guess I am being
mean," she admitted. "Watch what happens. After you see it, I think
you'll be able to do it easily enough."

He watched as she hunkered down in a squat, her arms
lowering to the ground in front of her, and then she simply shrunk, so
fast it happened in the blink of an eye. A rather large white cat was sitting
on the ground where she'd been standing. There was another flash, this one of
expansion, and she was again standing before him. "That's all there is to
it," she told him. "To make it happen, you have to want it to happen,
and you have to will it to happen. You already know how to do it. It's
in your blood. You just have to make it do it."

"Alright," he said. He thought about what
she did, how she changed. He wanted to do the same thing, so he kept telling
himself to change in his mind, over and over again. But nothing was happening.

"Don't just think it," she said. "Want
it. Will it."

Clenching his paws into fists, he closed his eyes and willed
it to happen, using all the concentration skills taught to him by his parents.
he felt the oddest sensation, a cool sensation, as if his body had been changed
into a liquid. He felt it actually flow into that other shape, the liquid
filling the new vessel. There was no pain, just that flowing sensation. And
then it was over.

He opened his eyes, and he was given a new point of
view of the world. One much closer to the ground. Everything was in vibrant
color, and the world opened up to his senses as his instincts seem to advance
from the corner of his mind where they usually sat. He was closer to them that
way, and he could feel them in a way that he'd never felt them before.
And after a few seconds of that intimate contact with them, he didn't feel
quite so afraid of them. He looked down at his paws, seeing a pair of cat's
legs underneath him. He looked at himself, this way and that, getting an idea
of how it felt to have four legs instead of two, getting used to having fur all
over his body. "You're a handsome cat, Tarrin," Jesmind said
appreciatively, then she hunkered down and shifted into her cat form. She was
slightly smaller than he was, he noticed, and her smell was the smell of a cat,
not the smell of a Were-cat.

"How does it feel?"

Tarrin was a bit surprised. She had not used sounds or
words or movements, but he just seemed to understand perfectly what she was
saying to him. And he found it instinctively easy to reply to her in the exact
same manner. "Strange," he told her in that unspoken manner.
"How are we talking?"

"I've never understood the specifics of it,"
she said. "We just know what other cats have to say. It works with
normal cats too, from housecats to lions."

"Odd," he remarked, sitting down sedately.
He felt the urge to start cleaning his fur. Though the idea of licking himself
seemed a bit unusual, nonetheless he felt perfectly at ease with the concept.
That was definitely the instincts of the cat impressing themselves on his
consciousness, as she said they would.

"What do you think?" she asked, walking up to
him and sitting down in front of him.

"It feels...right," he said after a moment.

"Then you won't have any trouble," she told
him. "To change back, you just will yourself back. It's that easy."

"It'll be more comfortable to sleep like
this," he remarked.

"Now you understand why I talked about getting rid
of the clothes," she said with a light manner, grinning at him in the
manner that cats smiled. "Change back, Tarrin. Make sure that you can do
it easily."

Tarrin nodded to her, and this time he kept his eyes
open. He willed himself back into his bipedal form, and he changed.
His vision blurred and grayed over at the same instant that he felt his body go
liquid again, and it cleared with him looking down at Jesmind's cat form.
"Very good," she told him in the manner of the cat. "Now change
back, and let's go hunting. I'm hungry."

"Hunt, as a cat?" he asked.

"Cats are excellent hunters," she said
proudly. "And I have a taste for squirrel. So let's go get one."

"Eat a squirrel, raw?"

"You'll understand once you change back," she
told him huffily.

Tarrin again willed the change, and he was surprised at
how easy it was that time. It just took wanting it, and thinking about making
it happen, and it happened. He sat down again in his cat form in front of her.

"It's easy, isn't it?" she said simply.

"Yes, it is," he agreed.

"Now, let me teach you how to hunt, cubling,"
she told him, assuming a matronly role. "The meat is worth the
effort."

Jesmind was right. Raw squirrel did taste good.

Tarrin lay half-awake in the darkness, with Jesmind
curled up beside him, against him, sound asleep. They'd found a large hollow
log to nest in for the night, where it was dark and warm and snugly cramped,
just the way that cats liked dens. He drowsily mused over how complete the
domination of the cat was on him while in its form, how things that would have
turned his stomach or made him flinch just seemed to be second nature to him
now. The hunting was actually rather easy, for he already had a solid
understanding of the basics. All Jesmind had to do was teach him the tactics
and nuances of doing with stealth, speed, claws, and teeth, rather than a bow
or sling. Once he'd caught the squirrel, he killed it with a bite to the neck
to asphyxiate it. Then they ate it. And Tarrin had felt like it was the most
natural thing in the world. All those little things that cats did made perfect
sense to him now. It was like he was blind for not realizing it sooner.

That was the Cat, and he knew it, but in a way, he
welcomed it. He hoped that this closer communion with what was inside him
would let them co-exist peacefully together. Introducing each other, as it
were. And maybe stop the dreams that haunted and terrorized him, the dreams
that were the reason he didn't want to fall asleep, no matter how desperately
his body and mind cried out for it.

Jesmind yawned and stirred against him. He was a bit
surprised when she raised her head and licked his cheek, then kept at it. He
closed his eyes and put his head down, letting her groom him, accepting her
attention completely.

She groomed his cheek and neck, then put her head back
down against his shoulder. "Now go to sleep," she ordered in a
gentle tone. "I'm here to watch over you."

Tarrin closed his eyes, and soon he was fast asleep.

Sunrise poured a stream of rosy light right into the
log, and into Tarrin's eyes. He opened them blearily, letting them adjust to
the light, and he wondered at it.

He'd slept through the night, without a single dream.

Jesmind was sleeping beside him, with her head resting
against his shoulder. And there was a strange smell in the air. It was a
musky smell, an unwashed one, and from the smell of it there were several of
them. Whatever they were. Leaving Jesmind asleep, Tarrin inched out of the
hollow log, testing the air with his nose. They were very close, whatever they
were, almost within earshot. When he heard the first rustling, he backed well
into the log, back beside Jesmind, who was still asleep.

After a few moments, he could hear voices, and they
weren't human. They were canoid sounds, full of yips and barks, and Tarrin had
been taught by his father about them. That meant that the smell was of Dargu,
the dog-faced, goat-horned Goblinoids. He saw one padded, dog-like foot come
down right outside the log's opening. He didn't know their language, only knew
how to identify it.

"Jesmind," he called in the unspoken manner
of the cat.

"I know," she replied calmly. "Just
leave them be, Tarrin. They're not looking for us, and I hate killing anything
before breakfast. That isn't breakfast, that is," she added absently.

"But--"

"Just lay back down, Tarrin," she told him.

There was a cry from outside, and Tarrin saw the edge
of his trousers as they were picked up. "They know we're nearby," he
said sourly, "and they know I'm not alone."

She seemed to consider that. "Maybe we should do
something about it," she decided. "If they're with those Trolls, I
don't think that we want them knowing where we are. Besides, I'm not giving up
my clothes. But if we do this, they all have to die, Tarrin," she told
him. "All of them. Even the wounded. Are you capable of it?"

He was quiet a moment. "I am," he said
grimly.

"Alright then. Let's crawl out of here. You go
one way, I'll go the other. We'll get them between us, change, and attack.
Remember, no mercy. We can't let them know we have alternate forms."

"Alright," he said.

The black and white cats slithered unnoticed from the
hollow log and split up. Tarrin hunkered down and darted from bush to tree,
working himself out to the edge of the Dargu pack as he took stock of them.
There were about eight, armed with spears, clubs, and one with a rusty sword.
They were snuffling and checking out their clothes, putting their dirty hands all
over them. He'd have to wash them after that. The sword was no danger to him;
it was the clubs that were the real threat. Weapons of nature, the rough
treestumps could deal real damage to him. Besides, the raw impact of a club
could knock him out just as easily as a human, and then he would be helpless.

Once he was in position, Tarrin waited a few seconds
for Jesmind to get into position, then changed form. It was so easy to him, he
didn't even think about it. He struck from behind, without warning, and his
clawed paw reached around the Dargu and cut its throat with a single claw just
as quickly as any assassin's knife. The Dargu died without a sound, slumping
to the ground, and the others had yet to notice. Tarrin picked up the already
dead Dargu and hefted him over his head, feeling hot blood pour on his
shoulder, then he threw the dead creature into the backs of his companions.
They fell to the ground in a bloody pile, grunting in surprise and the shock of
the impact.

Total chaos erupted at that instant, as Jesmind struck
from her position of concealment. Jesmind fought with an elemental style that
Tarrin could see was self-learned, but it was no less deadly. She ripped the
throat from her initial victim, then darted in and did the same to the nearest
enemy before it could react. Tarrin drove right into the heart of the Dargu
concentration, wreaking havoc with his clawed paws and feet, fighting in the
forms of the Ungardt hand style, modifying them as he went to take advantage of
his claws. Fighting in the familiar forms seemed to calm him, help him control
the bloodlust that raged through his soul, dying to be released, and it allowed
him to maintain himself. He caught the wrist of a club, yanked the creature
forward, and then broke the arm. Then he whipped it around by that broken arm,
and it spun over onto its back as it howled in agony. Tarrin finished it with
a stomp right to the neck, crushing the windpipe. The Dargu at first fell
back, then pressed in, and then fell back as their weapons were batted aside or
evaded, and Dargu fell by the second to the clawed Were-cats' devastating
attack. The last few turned to flee, but Tarrin knew that there could be no
mercy in this battle. His life depended on it. He grabbed one by the ponytail
on its head and yanked back hard enough to snap its neck as Jesmind rushed
forward and tackled another, her claws flaying it alive before they hit the
ground. That left one, and it had a few steps on Tarrin. Tarrin simply picked
up a fallen club, sized up his target, and hurled it at its back with his
unnatural strength driving it. It hit the Dargu squarely in the back of the
head, and it hit with sufficient force to spray the surrounding trees with red
gore. The dead creature tumbled to the ground, and was very still.

Jesmind blew out her breath, carefully sizing up the
bloody mess. "Good," she told him. "You know how to fight.
That's something I won't have to teach you."

"I know how to fight," he said tightly,
looking away from the bloody carnage they had wrought in a surprisingly short
time.

They washed themselves of the blood in the nearby
stream, and Tarrin dunked his clothes and beat most of the dirt out of them,
and wrung them out as best he could. They were still wet when he put them on,
but there was little else he could do. Wet leather chafed and itched, but he
wasn't about to go nude.

"Much better," Jesmind approved as she donned
her own wet shirt. She'd taken his idea and done the same thing.

"You think there are any more of them out
there?"

"Thousands," she replied, "but they
usually live farther north. They'd only come down here for a reason, and with
those Trolls that were chasing you, I'd say that you were that reason."

"I don't see why," he complained. "I'm
just a farmboy from a secluded village."

"I don't know either, and I don't really
care," she said. "We'll have to make for a city. We need humans
around us, with their steel to scare off the Goblinoids." He saw nothing
wrong with that idea. Until he could continue on in safety, heading for the
Tower was out of the question. It was too far away, and these creatures had
obviously been placed previously...as if the placer had known which way he
would go.

Of course he did, Tarrin realized. There was only way
to get to Suld from Marta's Ford.

One way for a human.

"Darsa is on the coast," Jesmind thought
aloud. "It's actually pretty close. About four days' travel. And
they're expecting us to go south, towards Ultern, not west."

"If you want to walk through them, then go right
ahead," Tarrin told her.

"Hush," she said absently, billowing out her
wet hair to help dry it. Tarrin was struck again quickly by Jesmind's raw
beauty and physical perfection at that moment, as she scrubbed her hair to and
fro to get air through it, the move accenting those breasts that Tarrin
couldn't help but stare at when he thought she wasn't looking. He didn't
understand why or how he could look at her as a guardian in one way, and as a
partner with the same eyes. She was almost like his mother, and he wouldn't
even dare to think of his mother the same way he caught himself thinking
about Jesmind. He thought that maybe it was because she was a female of his
own kind that made him think that way, the only one that he knew. But it could
be anything, and he knew that. He still wasn't familiar enough with this new
life to understand the nuances.

She gave him an intent look, then put her arms down
casually. "I guess that we will go west for a time, then turn south
again," she acceded. "We may not have to go all the way to Darsa.
It'll depend on whether or not we're followed."

"I guess that'll work," Tarrin acquiesed.

They turned west and started at a very brisk pace that
was almost a run. Jesmind urged him into a loping, jog-like pace that ate up
the ground, and he was shocked at how easily he could maintain it. They ran
for most of the morning, farther and faster than a horse could manage it. The
trees flew by as they ran along game trails, and the whole world seemed to
center down to the sharp watch for tree limbs and turns in the trail, or
picking out a path when they had to travel through virgin forest. Their
clothes dried relatively quickly with their speed blowing air over it. About
midmorning, Tarrin started to get tired. "Can we stop for a while?"
he asked her.

"I guess," she said sourly. They both slowed
to a walk. "We'll find a stream and fish out some lunch. We'll rest
while we eat."

They found one, a pretty little stream with a waterfall
that was twice Tarrin's height feeding a large pool. Silvery shapes darted to
and fro in the water, which was decidedly icy to the touch. Tarrin guessed
that the stream was fed right from the Skydancer Mountains, with their ice and
glaciers in the higher elevations. Jesmind had him fish out some lunch as she
drank farther down, and when she returned, he had three large trout sitting on
the leaf-strewn bank. "Only one more," she told him, cleaning and
paring them as Tarrin took five minutes to snag the last one. She handed him a
flank of fish as he sat down.

He gave her a curious look, a question coming to mind
that he'd been meaning to ask her for a while. "What do you do?"

"Do? What do you mean, what do I do?"

"Well, what do you do? When you're not here with
me, anyway." He took another bite. "You know, do you make things?
Or sew, or what?"

"Ah," she said. "I don't work for a
living, Tarrin. Unless you want to call hunting and gathering work. I do have
a little garden behind my house, but I admit I'm not there too often. I like
to roam around alot. I guess as we get older, just sitting at home isn't quite
as sedate as it used to be." She pulled a bone from her mouth and tossed
it aside. "It's bloody boring, truth be told. I've never had a child, so
I've never really had the urge to stay in one place too long. Mother really
gets after me over that," she grunted.

"Over not being married?"

"Tarrin, we don't marry," she told him
tersely. "My three sisters all have their own children, and I think my
brother Jarlin has sired about twelve. I'm the oldest, but I don't have any
children to present to my mother. Well, except for you, but you're not the
kind of child she wants. Mother's a busybody, and she probably won't let off
of it until I hand her a baby. She tracks me down about every twenty years or
so just to see if I'm pregnant or already have a baby, and if I don't, why I'm
not trying to track down a male." She made a face. "Last time, I
just went home around the time she started looking for me, just to save myself
the trouble. That's where she always starts to look."

"Well, how do you earn money?" he asked
curiously.

"Money? I've been around a while, Tarrin,"
she told him with a grin. "I have money. I keep most of it at home,
buried in a safe place. But I don't really use it too often. I can provide my
own needs. About the only things I ever buy are clothes, and the occasional
steel tool." She finished her last bit of fish, and leaned back.
"Why all these questions about me, anyway?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he said. "You're a
Were-cat, so maybe if if I learn about what you do, then I'll know what I'm
supposed to do."

She laughed. "Cub, do whatever you want. If
staying in your den all your life is what you want, do it. If you want to
spend your life travelling, do it. The only things you can't do are what's
proscribed by Fae-da'Nar."

"What are those?"

"It gets involved, but the core of it is not to
give the humans reason to hate us," she told him. "Butchering
villages, preying on humans, killing people for no reason. That kind of
thing. What would give us a bad reputation."

"Oh."

"The real mess is when you have to learn about the
other Fae-da'Nar," she grunted. "You have to learn the basic
customs of the others, and things like that. It's so we don't have
misunderstandings and start fighting among ourselves." The wind had blown
a strand of hair up inside her ear, and it was flicking reflexively to clear
it. Tarrin reached up and pulled it free for her. "Thank you," she
said absently. "I see your hair is still growing," she remarked.

Tarrin made a face as he swung his head back and forth,
feeling it sway behind him. "I hate it," he complained.

"I'll braid it for you," she offered.
"That keeps it more or less under control" She got up and knelt
behind him, taking his hair into her hands. Hands, he realized. There was no
way she could put her Were-cat paws into his hair like that without him
noticing the difference. But a look down showed him that her tail was still
there. "You can change only your hands?" he asked.

"I can," she said. "But I can't get rid
of my tail or put on human ears without going full human. Some of us can, some
of us can't. It depends." She pulled his hair back and started
separating it. "It's alot easier just changing your hands, I think. It's
not as much of a strain." Tarrin looked down at his paws. "Don't
even think of trying," she warned. "When you're as young as you are,
you could only do it for a few minutes, and even then it would be
excruciatingly painful. Save it for when the gain is worth the pain."

"Alright," he said, bowing his head and
letting her braid his hair.

"Tarrin," she said.

"What?"

"If you don't get your tail out from between my
legs, we're going to have a disagreement."

"Sorry," he said sincerely, blushing
somewhat. "It does what it wants most of the time." He took control
of his rebellious limb, snaking out out from under Jesmind and curling it
around himself.

After she finished, they started off again on that same
ground-eating pace. They held it as the land began to get flat, and the trees
slowly began to get larger and larger, with less underbrush, which allowed them
to go faster. Tarrin began to see faint signs of human activity, but it was
very sparse. It also let him think and he had reached a very simple
conclusion.

He had to leave Jesmind.

Not because she was cruel, or mean, or he was afraid of
her...it was because he liked her too much. He was getting more and
more intrigued by her, and more than once he'd entertained the idea of going
with her to her den. He'd already made a promise to go to the Tower, and he
meant to uphold it. And the memory of Jenna almost burning Dolanna with fire
instilled enough fear into him to make him want to go there. He never
wanted that to happen with him. The thought of accidentally burning Jesmind
made him even more horrified. He knew that there was nothing he could say to
her to make her stop doing what she was doing...because he knew that for one,
Jesmind wouldn't change, and the other, that it was who she was that was
quickly charming him, not what. Jesmind had a unique, direct approach to life,
and a vibrant liveliness and manner about her that was quickly putting him
under its spell. She was much like his own mother, and Tarrin wasn't the only
boy alive that found the ideal woman to be something like his own mother. She
was intelligent, wise, strong, willful, and honest, and those were qualities
that he found to be very attractive.

The only question that remained to him was how he was
going to do it. He was fairly certain that she could easily track him down,
and she seemed to be in much better condition than him, so he was fairly sure
that a lead wouldn't matter all that much. He had to fix it so that they were
physically separated, or do it in a manner that would make her not want to
follow him. But he had no idea how he was going to manage that.

He thought about it the rest of the day, until Jesmind
called him to a stop. She looked up worriedly. "We have to find
shelter," she told him. Tarrin felt the cold wind, and he knew what she
meant. There was a summer storm blowing in. "You go that way, I'll go
this way. Look for anything dry."

He followed a small ridgeline for a few moments, but
Jesmind called out to him over a rumble of thunder. He followed her
scent-trail back to her. There was a fairly large hole in the side of the
small rise, leading up rather than down, and from the smell of it she'd already
crawled in. "Jesmind!" he called into the small cave as the first
drops of rain started to fall.

"It's large enough," she called back.
"Come on in."

It was an abandoned den of some kind, but the smells
were too faint to identify. It was rather cramped with two people in it, but
it was more than long enough for both of them to stretch out. It just didn't
have any headroom. "No, go on the other side," she ordered as he
tried to crawl in beside her. The den entrance was set so that it would be to
the side of them when they laid out, and she obviously wanted to be closer to
it. He obligingly crawled over her, trying not to put too much weight down on
her, and laid down in the space between her and the den's curled wall.

"Good," she said calmly. "I didn't want
to sleep in fur tonight. This is soft enough, dry, warm, and large enough for
us to sleep like this."

There was a brilliant flash and then a blasting crash
of thunder that shook the whole den. "That was close," Jesmind
remarked as she rolled over on her back and put her paws behind her head.

"Sounds like it's going to go on for a
while," Tarrin said as the hammer of the rain became suddenly loud.

"Probably," she agreed, her eyes almost
glowing in the darkness of the den. They were gathering in the light, like a
dog's eyes in the dark, only the color that reflected back was the same green
as they were in the light. It was an eerie look, with her eyes glowing in that
manner, and Tarrin fully understood how his gaze could instill fear. If his
did what hers do, then they would be frightening to look at. "I'm going
to sleep. Unless you had other ideas?"

"No," he said with a faint blush. Tarrin put
his head on his paws, closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep.

It was morning. Jesmind was asleep beside him, and
he'd again slept through the night without dreams. The air coming into the den
smelled of wet leaves, and he could hear dripping water. After the
thunderstorm, the rain had continued on as normal rain for most of the rest of
the night, breaking the rather long dry snap that had been going on. He leaned
over her and looked out the opening, seeing water droplets sparkling in the
sun, and he could hear a wind blowing the tops of the trees. He wanted to go
out and see. Putting his back against the top of the den, Tarrin tried to inch
over Jesmind without disturbing her, but there was almost no room. His tail
swished across her side and leg, and her eyes opened immediately and focused on
him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I wanted to go outside and see, but you were in
the way." He was about to say more, but her eyes seemed to go softer for
a moment, and the texture of her scent changed in a way that he couldn't explain.
He stared down into those lovely eyes of hers and seemed to be captivated by
them. He could smell her, feel the nearness of her in the cozy den, and it
seemed to be clouding his judgement. He hadn't even realized that he'd leaned
down close to her until he was already there. She just seemed to lay there and
see what he would do, and for some reason that bolstered the young man's
courage. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and kissed her.

It was an awkward kiss, tentative, and Tarrin didn't
even know what he was doing until he felt Jesmind's paws slide up and around
his back. But Jesmind seemed to urge him, and when she kissed him back, the
sensation of it totally blew all coherent thought to the four winds. He
realized in some corner of his mind that she made sure to get a hold on him
before returning his kiss, because the sudden sensation and raw sensuality of
it actually frightened him. He tensed up and tried to pull away. Jesmind let
him go only so far before her claws dug into his back, and the pain caused him
to instantly stop. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked, her voice
breathless, her eyes a bit confused and a tad annoyed.

"You...I...I can't do this," he said in a
panting tone. He wanted to, but he felt that if he did, he wouldn't want
to leave her. But he had to. Her own safety depended on it.

"And what is stopping you?" she asked in a
calm, quiet voice. "I know I'm not. I've been working you up to this
since the moment we met, and I'm not about to let you back out now." She
used a leg to throw both of them over, until he was on his back and she was on
top of him, her smoldering eyes staring down into his and her paws holding him
down. "I thought I was going to have to hit you over the head to get your
attention. I've never been so blunt about getting a man's eye."

"But we can't, I can't--"

"Stop talking nonsense," she said in a cooing
voice. She leaned down and kissed him again, and all resistance, as well as
all thought, fled his mind.

Chapter
6

It was midday, and they were still inside the den.
Tarrin was gathered up into Jesmind's arms, and as she slept contentedly, he
brooded.

This was not what he wanted to happen.

It was, but it wasn't, and in that respect, it had been
more than he ever dreamed. Jesmind had been an infinitely tender lover, and
that expression of her warmth and feeling for him had touched him to his soul.
He knew that he'd never think of her in the same way again. He felt a feeling
of trust in her that defied explanation, grounded in the incredible intimacy
that they had shared, and he would tell her anything she wanted to know, and he
would trust that it would go no farther. He'd come to know her every line, her
every curve, and her scent was imprinted forever into his mind. He didn't know
if it was love, but there was certainly something between them now, some sort
of bond that could not be broken.

What he had feared would happen had happened,
though...he didn't want to leave her. He wanted to stay with her and learn
what she had to teach, but more than that, he just wanted to be with her. And
he knew that, unless she agreed to go with him to the Tower, that it wouldn't
come to pass. The problem was, he couldn't just come out and ask her to go to
the Tower with him. If she knew that it was his intent, then she'd watch him
so closely that he'd have no chance to get away from her. He knew that he'd
have to approach the subject very delicately, try to urge her into it, convince
her that teaching him at the Tower was just as good as back at her home. And
he also had to impress upon her how important it was that he learn how to
control the untouched talent of Sorcery that was deep inside him, control it
before he hurt someone, or hurt her.

It was very heavy thoughts, and he worried at them
fretfully, almost as much as he worried at who was trying to kill him. He had
no doubt about that now. They had been trying since he'd left home, and they
weren't about to stop. They were probably even behind the fire in Watch Hill's
inn. And they had caused this to him, the change that had forever altered his
life. He didn't really blame Jesmind. She was a pawn, and whatever he'd
thought at first, she had no direct responsiblity for what had happened. She
was just a tool used by another. There is an old saying in the army; don't
kill the messenger when he brings bad tidings. Jesmind had been the
messenger. Whoever they were, they had access to some very exotic creatures,
like Jesmind, they had mages like the one he'd killed, and they could make the
Goblinoids do what they wanted them to do. That was considerable power,
because Trolls didn't like to talk to their dinners before eating them. Those
Trolls had to be afraid of the ones that told them to chase him to do what they
wanted. Trolls were like that. And it was very disturbing, because from what
his father had said often, the Goblinoids weren't much of a threat because of
their infighting. Tribes fought tribes with just as much enthusiasm as race
fought race. Well, he more or less had concluded that those Dargu had been
working for the same people. If these people could command all the different
Goblinoids and prevent them from killing each other, then they had an extremely
powerful army at their disposal.

It was a puzzle, and it was like trying to put one
together with a blindfold on, and he wasn't allowed to touch the pieces
either. But until he knew who and what was behind it, there was nothing that
he could do but keep one step ahead of them. They seemed fanatically intent on
keeping him from reaching to Tower of Sorcery. He was just as determined to do
it just to spite them. Tarrin thought about that as he absently played with
Jesmind's hair, studying the white-backed cat ear that was poking up out of
that brilliant red mass, noticing how it was large, but not too large,
and how it moved even in her sleep towards any sound. He ran the back of his
finger along her cheek, then over the smooth skin where a human ear would have
been. It looked odd to him, even now, not to see an ear there.

"Mmmmm," Jesmind sounded, stretching under
him. Her arms wrapped back around him almost immediately, and she gazed up
into his eyes with a bemused, content expression on her face. "Good
morning," she sounded, bringing a paw around and tapping him on the tip of
his nose. "Such a serious face," she chided. "Don't I get a
smile?"

"Cub, I don't think you want to hear how much I
enjoyed it," she said with a grin. "Unless you'd like a rather
detailed account of the parts I found most pleasurable?"

"Ah, no," he replied urbanely.

"Good," she said. "Talking about it
with you right here will just give me ideas, and as much fun as this is, we
have to move. Where are our clothes?"

"I have no idea," he replied.

She laughed richly. "Then we really must have
enjoyed it," she observed. "I hope I didn't tear them."

She waited a moment. "Tarrin."

"What?"

"To get up, you have to get up," she told
him. "I can't move with you on top of me."

After finding their clothes, Tarrin crawled out of the
den. He had dirt caked to him in many places, and there were streaks of brown
on him. "That's what happens when you sweat in a dirt-floored den,"
she told him with a wink. She looked much the same as he did. "There's a
stream somewhere nearby. We can wash off there."

The smell of water led them to a very small little
brook, and they found an area of relative depth to wash off the dirt, then let
the sun and wind dry them before they dressed. As they sat by the stream,
basking in the warmth of the sun, Tarrin decided to start trying to convince
her to come with him. "Where will we go from here?" he asked.

"We'll have to turn northwest for a while,"
she told him, smoothing out the fur on her arms, then using her claws as a comb
to brush her thick hair. "I think going on to Darsa is the best thing to
do, whether they follow us or not. After we lose ourselves in the people
there, we can get back to my range easily."

"Why turn northwest?"

"Because of the Scar," she told him.
"It's a big ravine that runs almost to the coast. Once we get to it,
we'll run beside it. Darsa is at the end of it."

"If you're worried about that, then we can just go
to Suld," he said. "It's a large place, full of people, and we'll be
allowed to stay in the Tower. I think that we'd be safer there than running
around out here."

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not going
anywhere near those spellweavers. It was one of them that collared me."

"Really?" he gasped.

"I know Sorcery when I smell it," she said in
a deadly voice. "I don't know much about Druidic magic, but I've got
enough of it to sense a Sorcerer's weaving, and I felt that right before I lost
my memory."

"Not all people who can use Sorcery are
Sorcerers," he told her. "Many of them don't want to be in the order.
Maybe it was one of those freelancers."

"I don't care," she grated. "I'm still
not going anywhere near them. And neither are you."

"I have to," he said. "Jesmind, I am
one of those people. Before I left home, I saw my sister nearly kill someone with
Sorcery. It was an accident, but it was no less deadly. If I don't go
somewhere and find someone to teach me how to control it, that may happen to
me. And I may kill somebody. I don't want to hurt anyone, Jesmind, least of
all you."

She gave him a hot look, but he pressed on regardless.
"I don't see why you can't teach me what I need to know there," he
said in a reasonable tone. "That way I learn what I need to know about
being what I am, and I'm in a place where I won't accidentally kill someone
with Sorcery."

"I'm not going there," she told him in a
steely tone. "And since I'm not, you're not. And that's the end of
it."

"Gods, woman, do I have to burn your hair off to
make you understand?" he said hotly. "I don't want to hurt anyone,
and if I hurt you, I think I'd kill myself. There's only one place that I can
go to keep that from happening. Why are you being so stubborn about
this?"

"Cub, I'm about one step from shutting you
up," she growled, balling one oversized hand-paw into a fist. "I
said no. In case you don't understand what that means, it means no.
I'm not going to Suld, and you go where I go. That means you are not
going to Suld."

He was getting angry with her, but he knew better than
to press it too far, else she'd start getting suspicious. When the time came,
he needed as much a head start on her as he could get.

After dressing, they started off again at that
ground-eating pace that they'd used the day before. It was amazing that he
could run so fast for so long. At that pace, he knew he could outrun a horse,
for while a horse could run faster, it couldn't do it as long as he could at
the speed he was running. The forest became populated by more and more
evergreens as the terrain quickly became hilly. There was less undergrowth as
well, which allowed them to run faster when there was no trail to follow.

The Scar was almost self-descriptive. It was a huge
ravine that simply opened with no warning. It was about a hundred paces across
where they'd encountered it, and it went straight as an arrow due east and
west. Jesmind stood confidently at the very edge of the deep crevice, which
had a considerable amount of standing water at the bottom which was at least
two hundred spans down, shading her eyes with her paws from the bright sun as
she studied the horizon to the east, and then to the west.

Tarrin stood at the edge, looking down at the narrow
lake at the bottom. "What now?" he asked.

"There are some bridges across here and
there," she said. "There are enough woodsmen around for them to need
them. We'll cross one and get on the other side, then cut the bridge so the
Dargu can't follow." She grunted. "Damn, I don't see any," she
informed him. "Let's skirt this thing to the east and see if we can't
find one."

They turned east and followed along the edge of the
ravine. Tarrin noticed that it stayed at almost the exact same width, and the
walls of the ravine's sides were smooth, with striated, multi-colored bands of
rock that went all the way down to the water's edge some distance below.
"I wonder if there are any fish in there," he mused.

"There are," she told him. "I fell in
once. It took me almost an hour to climb out. That water is cold."

"How did that happen?"

"The bridge fell out from under me," she shrugged,
"and I was too far away to jump to the edge."

"I wonder what made it," he said.

"From what I hear, it was some God," she
remarked. "I guess he was having a hissy fit or something."

They found a bridge about an hour later. It was a
rotted rope bridge with wooden planks, and it looked like it would collapse if
a fly landed on it. Jesmind frowned a bit after looking at it, but a few tugs
on the supporting ropes showed that they were firm. "We may as well try
this one," she said. "The worst that can happen is that we both get
wet."

"I hate getting wet," Tarrin growled.

"I do too," she said. "It's a race
thing."

Jesmind went first, since she weighed less than
Tarrin. But not much. The planks groaned considerably as she put her weight
on them, but they held. The ropes creaked just as loudly, but they too held.
"Come on," she said after she was about a quarter of the way across.

"Is that wise?" he asked.

"The support ropes are strong enough," she
said. "So long as we're far enough apart, it'll be just fine."

Tarrin put one padded foot on the first plank, and he
winced when it creaked ominously as he put weight on it. He kept both paws on
the handrails as he gingerly stepped out onto the bridge, moving with the
sure-footed caution for whom that cats were famous. Tarrin realized that he
had absolutely no fear of the height. It was the fear of the bridge breaking
out from under him that made him go so slow.

After he was about halfway across, Tarrin suddenly
stopped. He realized one simple thing. That this was the perfect
opportunity to separate himself from Jesmind. With the Scar between them, she
would have to find another bridge to get back across, and that would give him
enough of a lead on her to get away.

Tarrin agonized over it for several seconds. He didn't
want to leave her. He was afraid that she would be angry with him for his
treachery. No, he was sure of that. But the single thought of Jesmind's skin
charred and her hair on fire strengthened his resolve. It was for her own good
as much as his.

With her back to him, Jesmind didn't see Tarrin flex
out his claws, grab the rail rope securely with his other paw, and then shear
through the rail with his claws.

The rail snapped like a broken bowstring, popping back
towards the walls of the ravine and breaking guideropes that secured the
support ropes to the rope lattice holding the footplanks. The floor fell out
from under both of them, and Jesmind wildly managed to get her paw on the
unbroken support rope, which sagged and suddenly groaned loudly from the sudden
extra weight. Tarrin flexed out the claws on his foot, and, holding the
support rope with both paws, he set his claws of his foot against it and
pushed. They ripped through the sturdy hemp easily, and then the rope bridge
separated into two pieces.

Tarrin fell with one section, and Jesmind fell with the
other, on opposite sides.

The impact with the wall was bone-numbing. Tarrin
almost lost his grip on the rope as he rebounded away from the wall and his
hands stung fiercely. He scrabbled on the wooden planks with his claws, then
found purchase as they sank into the old wood. Breathing a few deep gasps of
air, he put his forehead on the rotting wood and thanks whatever Gods were
watching that he didn't take a swim. "Tarrin!" Jesmind called
urgently. He looked back and up. She was higher up on her section, hanging on
with her paws and footclaws in the same manner as him. "Are you
alright?"

"I'm alright," he replied soberly, then he
started climbing up. The rotted condition of the planks made climbing up them
dangerous, so he opted to just hand-walk up the support rope, which was still
in good condition.

"Don't!" she called.

"What?" he asked, still climbing.

"You're on the wrong side," she shouted to
him. "You'll have to drop into the water and climb up my side."

"I'm not getting in that water," he said
adamantly, neatly evading giving away his intention for a few precious
moments. He had a good rhythm at that point, and he was climbing up the side
of the ravine with surprising speed. She beat him to the top, but not by very
much. He clambored over the edge of the wall and turned around to face her.

"Well, we can follow along on either side until we
find another bridge," she called.

"You're safe now, Jesmind," he called calmly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

She was quiet a moment, then her ears laid back. Even
from a hundred paces away, he saw her eyes literally flare up from within with
an unholy greenish glow. "You did that!" she accused.
"You little--"

Tarrin winced at the barrage of sudden graphic curses
she threw in his direction. She was incensed, and he was suddenly glad they
were separated by an uncrossable barrier. "You're going to Suld!"
she shrieked. "You lied to me!" she said with a sudden
vehemence that frightened him.

"I never did any such thing!" he called back.

"You said you'd stay with me, and now you're
running away!" she accused. "You lied to me, Tarrin!"

"I said I would learn what you had to teach,"
he called back. "I never said when. You don't understand that I need
to go to Suld, Jesmind. I don't have a choice. I wanted you to come with me,
but you refused. This is more your fault than mine. When I'm done at Suld,
then I'll be happy to go with you. But not until then."

She was totally enraged, and despite the distance
between them, he was suddenly very afraid of her. "You had better run far
and fast, rogue," she spat at him. "Because when I catch up
to you, I'm going to kill you!" Tarrin rocked back on his heels. She meant
it. "And I know where you're going, so you had best hope to every God you
can remember that you get there before I do!" She snatched a small rock
off the ground, and hurled it at him. Despite the distance between them,
Tarrin had to duck to avoid getting his nose flattened by the rock. "I'm
going to kill you, Tarrin!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, then she
threw a few more tongue-shrivelling curses at him, even as she threw more
rocks. He hoped she didn't know what some of those words meant, as he
evaded the amazingly accurately thrown rocks.

He gave her a sober, calm look, and she stopped
shouting at him. Her face was screwed up into a mask of utter outrage, and she
was panting hard from her anger and exertion at throwing curses and rocks.
"I'm sorry," he told her. Then he turned and started running south.

Her howling promise to gut him when she got her claws
on him followed him into the trees.

It had not gone as well as he had hoped, but it had
been necessary. Tarrin sighed at what could have been, then quickened his
pace. Jesmind was now his enemy, and he knew that she would kill him without
hesitation when she caught up to him. So he had to make sure that she didn't.

It had been a very hard two days.

Tarrin was huddling in a small hollow bole created by a
massive fallen tree, avoiding a heavy rain that was soaking the surrounding
forest. The only reason he stopped was that he needed rest and that it was so
heavy it had reduced visibility to almost nothing. Tarrin had had almost no sleep
since leaving Jesmind, pushing himself at a murderous pace that was surely so
far ahead of her that his trail would be washed out by the rain. That had been
his intent, for rain was a common occurance in Sulasia at that time of year.
With enough of a lead and the rain washing out his scent, he could now change
direction without fear of her following him.

Then again, he didn't even know if she was. He'd seen
no sign of her since he'd left her fuming at the Scar. Since she knew where he
was going, he saw her making one of three choices. She would try to track him
down, she would get ahead of him on one of the more obvious routes to Suld and
head him off, or she would go all the way to Suld and try to catch him there.
Tarrin was guessing that, as mad as she was, she was chasing him. And now that
the rain was so heavy, it would wash away any trace of his passage, and he
could make his planned turn with no fear of her following.

Well, not too much fear.

He waited for a few moments, then climbed out into the
rain, getting onto the fallen tree. Now it was important not to get on the
ground, where his tracks or scent could sink into the mud. He pulled himself
into the trees with a low-laying branch, then turned southeast, away from Suld.

That was his plan. Go southeast for a while, turn due
south, then cross the High Road to Suld at some point. Run parallel to that
road on the south side, veer away close to the city, and then enter from the
south, the opposite direction of what she would think he would come in.

Two days with very little food and no sleep had taken
their toll, however. Tarrin had already factored in a day of little movement
into his plan. Once he was sure he'd lost her, he'd stop and get a very good
sleep, then fish or hunt up a good meal, and then return to his established
pattern of eating whatever he could find during a stop of only a short time.
Over the last two days, his father's training in woodlore had kept him alive,
letting him find roots and plants that were edible, things that he wouldn't
have to hunt down or catch. He did have one meat meal, stumbling over a rabbit
den, then reaching in and grabbing the animal before it could get too far
away. It hadn't expected that. But raw rabbit left much to be desired, and he
wouldn't do that again unless he was hungry enough not to care.

Tarrin moved in the trees for the rest of the day. It
wasn't as fast as moving on the ground, but with the heavy rain, it was almost
undetectable. Especially since he was being extraordinarily careful about not
leaving clawmarks on the trees. Twice he'd passed over or allowed to pass a
band of Goblinoids, one a tribe of small Bruga, the other a small pack of
Trolls, which were trudging about in the rain in an obvious attempt to find
something.

Or someone.

They were still looking for him. He'd already known
that they would. It was what made his plan risky. If he had too many fights
with them, he'd be leaving bodies and obvious signs of his passage, and that
was something that he was certain would doom him to be meeting Jesmind face to
face in the immediate future. He had to get to Suld without getting into a
single fight, if he could help it. And with the number of Goblinoids that were
infesting this stretch of forest, that would not be easy. But, to his
advantage, they would slow Jesmind down as well, if she did manage to follow
him.

He kept moving after the sun went down, moving in the
pounding rain. The darkness was much more his ally than the Goblinoids, for
his sensitive eyes gathered in the murky light and allowed him to see, while
they resorted to torches, ruddy beacons that told him exactly where they were.
He moved on through the night, after the rain tapered off, stopping in utter
silence as a sooty torch came in his direction, then moving on after it had
gone by.

He moved on after daybreak, and throughout the entire
day, glad of a warm, windy day with heavy overcast that would keep his shadow
off the ground, while the sound of the wind through the trees would cover any
sound he may accidentally make. The concentration of Goblinoids was going
down, as they concentrated their search in other areas, for he only saw five
bands of them as he meandered on a generally southern course.

By the end of the day, his head felt as if it were
stuffed with sand, and he found his mind drifting at the most inconvenient
times. He'd already been awake somewhere around two days, and he'd all but
exhausted his reserves. The rain that had begun to fall was about the only
thing keeping him awake, as it pattered on his head and body and dropped into
his ears, which was uncomfortable. He knew that he had to stop, danger or no
danger. He decided to stay in the safety of the trees, though, and he searched
around for a suitable sleeping place. It took him about half an hour to find
one, just as the sun was setting in the west, an old hollowed out squirrel's
nest that had yet to gain a new tenant. It was just large enough for him to
squeeze in through the opening, and inside it was certainly warm and dry.
Tarrin removed his clothes and pushed them into the opening, then changed form
and wriggled in through the entrance. The inside was indeed dry, and warm.
The past tenant had littered the floor of the hollow with pine needles and
shredded leaves, creating a very soft bed on which to sleep.

He laid down on the soft mat of needles and leaves,
considering things in that drowsy half-conscious frame of mind before sleep.
He'd yet to feel real fear at what he was doing...and he hadn't had a single
dream since meeting Jesmind. In the short time that they had been together,
the feisty Were-cat female had changed Tarrin, changed him very much. Because
of her, he could strike out on his own, surrounded by enemies, with very little
fear, and a great deal of confidence. He would have been lost out here alone,
if it hadn't been for Jesmind.

He closed his eyes and slept, dropping off literally
between one thought and the next.

It took him nearly fifteen days to reach the High
Road. He'd spent almost all that time moving through the trees, not leaving
the Goblinoid patrols even a footprint to follow, coming down only to forage
for food and to drink water, and to cross a couple of streams and small
rivers. His ribs were starting to stick out some, but he'd gotten used to the
constant hunger that came with meals that couldn't fill his belly.

The time out in the forest, in a way, had been good for
him. His body was as tough as an old gnarled root now, already strong muscles
hardened visibly by some serious physical activity. The pads on his hand-paws
and feet had had been worn down, then grew back several times, until the pads
that were now on his feet were about as tough as old leather. He thought he'd
had endurance before, but now he could move all day and half the night at a
constant speed that would have put a Goblinioid on the ground panting and
heaving. It had also brought his two elemental sides into a closer symbiotic
harmony, as both the human and the Cat cooperated to get him to safety. The
human guiding his path and allowing him to execute his plans, the Cat by
keeping him safe and telling him what moves were wise and what moves were
stupid. He drew heavily on the instinctive knowledge of his animal half in
those fifteen days, and that along with the woodlore instruction he'd received
from his father had been what had fed him over the course of time. He noticed
a change in his basic attitudes as well, for the time in the forest had all but
converted him into a creature of the forest.

But now a sign of the human world stood on the ground
underneath the tree in which he was perched. His tail snaked back and forth
reflexively as he stared at it, the single goal that had driven him for half a
month, watching a trade caravan wend its way to the west. He needed
information, and here was the perfect opportunity to get it. It was a large
caravan, with some ten or fifteen wagons and nearly forty men on horseback,
wearing armor and carrying assorted weaponry, guarding the goods which were
stowed on the large wooden conveyances.

Tarrin dropped down to a lower branch, waiting to see
if he could get one man somewhat by himself. He didn't want to hurt the man,
just talk to him, but he didn't want to attract the attention of the entire
caravan. He got his chance, as one of the caravan's rear guard stopped not too
far from him and dismounted, then hurried off into the bushes to relieve
himself. The others didn't wait for him. Tarrin moved into a position
relatively close to the horse, approaching it with the horse's scent full in
his face so that the horse wouldn't smell him. The man came out of the bushes
and climbed back up onto his horse quickly.

"Excuse me," Tarrin called from the
concealment of the lower branches.

The man gave a startled oath and drew his sword.

"Oh, please," Tarrin called. "Put that
away. I just need to ask you a couple of questions."

"Who are you?" he called. "Where are
you?"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Where
are we? I'm a bit lost."

"This is the High Road," he said, a bit
confused.

"I know that," Tarrin retorted. "Where
on the High Road? Near what city?"

"How can you not know that?"

"Are you going to answer me or not?"

"I may not," he said.

"Human, if I was a bandit, I would have attacked
you when you went into the bushes," Tarrin said in disgust. "I just
want to know where I am so I can get to where I'm going."

The fact that Tarrin called him "human" was
not lost on the man. "Are you a Faerie?" he asked curiously.
"Is that why I can't see you?"

"Don't worry about what I am, just answer the
question," Tarrin grated.

"This place is about a day's ride to the west of
Ultern," he answered. "Jerinhold is about a day's ride east of
here."

Tarrin considered that. "I came too far
east," he growled aloud. "Thank you, human. That helps me a great
deal."

In an intentional rustle of leaves, Tarrin left the man
standing there.

Tarrin was quickly faced with another problem, one he
hadn't considered. The forest came right down to the road in that stretch that
he'd found, but that was not normal. Farmlands cut into the forest on both
sides of the road not even a quarter of a mile from where he'd encountered the
guard, and they stretched out too far for him to keep the road in sight and
still stay in the woods. Tarrin couldn't follow the road quickly if he had to
detour every quarter of a mile to go around a farm, and time was a definite
factor. It left him with a hard decision to make, but in the end, it wasn't
much of a decision.

Tarrin holed up in a tree top for the rest of the day.
When sunset drained all the light from the sky, leaving only the faint,
multihued light of the Skybands as illumination, Tarrin dropped down from the
trees and stepped out onto the road. There was no helping it, but at least on
the road he could travel with great speed. Tarrin set out in that
ground-eating lope, and spent the night travelling down the road. He passed
the caravan he'd encountered that day around midnight, and left them far
behind.

What he didn't expect was reaching the city of Jerinhold before dawn. It was a walled city, surrounded on all sides by farmland, and not
a few small villages. Tarrin wasn't about to set foot inside the city, so he
ran along a road that went along the base of the wall, watching the faint light
on the eastern horizon warily. He also didn't want to be caught out in the
open at daybreak. He wasn't sure why he was so concerned with not being seen,
but some part of him didn't want the humans to see him, or for them not to see
him like that. In a way, he was afraid of how they would react to seeing a
half-human creature, and the thought of being violently rejected was more than
he was willing to risk.

It was almost dawn by the time he'd managed to
circumnavigate the walls of Jerinhold, and the High Road stretched out before
him with almost no cover available. He decided to find cover for the day, but
he'd get as far as he could before he had to take shelter. He ran at a very
brisk pace right up until the dawning of the sun, then he veered off the road
and crossed several farms, and got himself into a small strip of woods that lay
between two large farms, serving as a boundary between them. He hid his
clothes in a small bole of a tree, changed form, and crawled into the bole with
his clothes. As the first rays of the sun washed over the floor of the woods,
Tarrin fell asleep.

Tarrin was almost starving when he woke up, some time
before sunset. He dressed with a hollow hole forming in his stomach, and the
thought of food was the only motivating factor. Aside from a few field mice,
there really wasn't much in the small strip of woods, and besides, field mouse
wasn't the tastiest of meals. There were farms around, several of them,
and he was absolutely positive that he could find something to eat among the
buildings of one of them. Tarrin didn't really like the idea of stealing from
honest folk, but there was almost nothing else to eat, and he was afraid to
show himself. He was filthy and bedraggled, and a farmer or innkeeper would
probably go for his pitchfork before greeting the Were-cat in a civilized
manner. Aside from that, Tarrin had no money with which to buy a meal, even if
he had the courage to walk into an inn.

Tarrin considered this as he slinked out of the woods
furtively, keeping himself relatively well hidden among the rows of knee-high
wheat growing out in the fields. The closest farm was the most logical target,
and it was a very large one. Obviously losing a chicken or two wouldn't really
hurt this farming family. They were evidently very prosperous. He crept among
the wheat as human smells touched his nose, and he crept up on the scents with
the stealth of a ghost. He lay in the field and watched as four men worked
with iron rods and wooden dowels to uproot a huge treestump. The tree which
had owned the stump lay on the ground beside the stump, and the stump itself
had not been cut. Rather, the ancient tree which had once rested upon it had
simply came down from old age. There was an older man with a brown beard and a
grizzled visage that was obviously in charge, coordinating the heaving attempts
of the three young men with him to rock the stump out of the ground. By their
scents, Tarrin could determine that they were all related. A father and his
three sons. And they all had smells of other humans all over them. Wives and
children, most likely. This was a family farmstead, where whole generations
lived and worked in harmony to manage the large holding and make it productive.

Tarrin just couldn't steal from them. He'd been a
farmer himself, and he knew how it felt to lose livestock and crops to raiding
animals. But, watching them heave and groan and sweat trying to uproot the
stump, he realized that he didn't have to steal from them.

Steeling himself, Tarrin stood up. It took them a few
moments to notice him, and when they did, the father gave out a startled shout
and brandished his iron rod like a staff as his sons hastily yanked out their
own tools to defend themselves against the intruder.

"Please, don't do that," Tarrin said from his
heart, raising his paws in supplication. Tarrin's simple plea must have struck
a chord with the brown-bearded patriarch, for he lowered his iron rod a bit and
regarded Tarrin curiously.

"What manner of creature are ye?" he asked.
"And what do ye want?"

"I'll help you uproot the stump in return for
food," Tarrin offered, ignoring the questions he didn't feel like
answering.

"Really now?" the patriarch asked. "And
what makes ye think that we'd be wanting yer help? Or that we can trust
ye?"

Tarrin hadn't considered that. Back in Aldreth, trust
was a simple matter, and it was abundant through the village and outlying
farms. Nobody locked their doors in Aldreth. He knew things were a bit
different in the rest of the world, but watching the farmers made him look on
them as he would have looked on farmers back home. And it was obvious that
they were nothing like his friends back home. Tarrin caught a glimpse of his
hand-paws, and an even greater reality crashed in on him. They'd trust him
even less because of what he was. "I, I'm sorry I bothered you," he
said quietly, turning around and starting to walk away.

"Hold," the man called. Tarrin stopped and
turned around. "Yer more dirt than skin, and that shirt's hangin' off ye
like there's nothin' under it. Ye offered work in exchange for food, and I
have the feelin' ye could have easily stole what ye wanted. If ye could get
this close to us, then getting that close to the chicken coop woulda' been just
as easy. Come, stranger. Help us pull this cursed stump, and ye can eat with
my family this night."

The look of grateful appreciation on Tarrin's face made
the fatherly man blush a little bit. The three young men gave their father a
wild look, but said nothing. "Come on then, stranger," the man said,
putting his iron rod back under one huge root. "Well, come on, boys, I'd
like to get this done today," he prompted.

Tarrin put a foot down in a hole dug around the base of
the stump, sunk his claws into the side of the stump, and braced his other foot
against the ground. The young men all returned to their places, and the older
man put his shoulder under his iron rod. "Alright now, all
together," he said. "One, two, three!"

Tarrin felt his blood rush through his body and he put
his inhuman strength against the side of the stump. It creaked, and groaned,
and the rods and dowels used by the humans suddenly began to move, helping the
main force of the movement, which was Tarrin, drive the stump out of the ground
with raw physical force. The stump moved half a span with that first push.
"Alright, again!" the farmer said, resetting his iron rod as Tarrin
got a new hold on the stump. It groaned, and several smaller roots undergrond
snapped from the strain. They stopped and reset the levering prybars, and
Tarrin got a hand-paw up and under the edge of the stump. He set his shoulder
against the stump and waited for the farmer to give the word. "This time
may do it," the man said in his earthy voice. "Ready now. One, two,
three!" Tarrin growled from the strain, and his vision blurred over as
the blood pounded through his body. The stump shuddered, then there was a
loud, deep snap as the main taproot broke. After that, the stump rolled out of
the hole easily.

Tarrin sat down heavily on the edge of the hole left by
the vacated stump, elbows on his knees and breathing heavily. That had been
all he had in him. The farmer and the three young sons gave Tarrin sidelong
glances, then the aged patriarch offered a hand out to Tarrin. Tarrin took it
hesitantly, but the aged farmer just smiled and helped Tarrin to his feet.
"The name's Kellen," he introduced. "My boys, Delon, Brint, and
Ian."

"I'm--uh, call me Rin," Tarrin said. He
didn't think it was wise to tell him his name, even though his physical
description more than gave him away. "Why don't you have your horses
pulling the stumps?"

The man's eyes hardened slightly. "Both my horses
died last month," he said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tarrin replied.
"Sickness?"

"Yah," he replied with a grunt. "Come
on then, let's go see if Mother has dinner on the table."

The farmhouse was an impressively large affair, some
three stories high, and it was teeming with activity. There were at least four
generations of this family living in the house, two generations below Kellen
the farmer and one generation above. The children playing in the farmyard all
stopped and looked at Tarrin with undisguised curiosity, and the elderly woman
sitting on the house's porch, with her knitting in her lap, eyed Tarrin
suspiciously as Kellen brought him up to the front porch. Tarrin was filthy
and matted, and he felt his indisposition keenly as the old woman stared at him
with her hard eyes. "Mother Wynn, this is Rin," Kellen told the aged
woman in a calm voice. "He helped us pull that big stump from the west
field."

"That's nice," she said in a calm voice,
continuing with her knitting. She was a very small woman, Tarrin noted, with
silver hair tied back in a loose bun. Her hands were gnarled from age, but her
fingers were still surprisingly nimble as they worked the knitting needles.
She was wearing a plain brown wool country dress, and had slippers on her
feet. Her face was very old, and wise, thin from the sunken cheeks of her
advanced age, and she probably only had three teeth left in her mouth. But her
eyes were clear and lucid, a chestnut brown that seemed to see absolutely
everything with the most cursory of glances. "Your wife won't let him
through the front door looking like that," she warned. "You need to
clean yourself up, Rin," she told him.

"I know, ma'am, but I haven't had the time,"
he said shyly.

She gave him a calm look. "Ian, take him out back
and show him where the wellpump is. Brint, he's about your size. You have a decent
shirt and pants he can wear?"

"I think I have something, Mother Wynn,"
Brint replied respectfully.

"I'd appreciate the chance to bathe, but I can't
stay long, ma'am," Tarrin told her, "so there's no need for me to get
clothes. Master Kellen offered me a meal for my help. Once I get the meal,
I'll be moving on. And I can eat on the porch just as easily as inside."

She gave him a simple look, and grunted in assent.
"Have your mother fix Rin a plate," she told Brint.

Ian took Tarrin around to the back of the house.
Tarrin was surprised that none of the children followed. There was a wellpump
and a trough of water right behind the house, close to the door opening to the
kitchen. "The water's not that warm, but it should be alright," Ian
told him gruffly.

"Thank you," Tarrin said sincerely, taking
off his shirt.

"Yer ribs are sticking out like branches,"
Ian noted.

"I haven't been getting much food lately,"
Tarrin replied.

Tarrin washed up as best he could in the trough,
dunking his shirt and twisting out most of the smell and dirt, then scrubbing
out the mats in his fur. His hair still had the same braid in it that Jesmind
put in it, but he still tried to wash out his hair the best he could with the
braid in it. He couldn't put it back, and it was much too convenient for it to
stay in the braid. After he was done, he walked back around the house.
Everyone else was gone, inside, except for the elderly woman Mother Wynn. She
had a plate with roasted chicken and carrots in her lap. There was another
such plate sitting on the porch by the steps. She motioned at it. "Have
a seat, boy," she said.

"Thank you," he said politely. "You
don't have to sit out here with me, ma'am," he said.

"Maybe not, but I always sit on the porch when I
eat," she said. "An old lady has the right to eat wherever she
wants." Tarrin sat down and attacked the large mound of roasted chicken
pieces. It had been a very long time since he'd had a cooked meal, and even
longer since he'd had that much food at one time. "Try not to swallow the
bones," she remarked with a crooked grin.

"It's been a while," he said between bites.

"I gathered," she said pointedly. "Who
are you running from?"

"I offended a large tribe of Dargu that decided
that my home range belonged to them," Tarrin lied. "They decided to
press the argument, even after I killed some of them. I decided to take a
little trip into the human lands, since they won't come into the human lands,
but I've not had much of a welcome from you humans either," he elaborated.
"I have no money for food, and there's no game worth hunting so deep into
the human lands, so I've had nothing to eat. Master Kellen is the first that's
been nice to me."

"Kellen likes to feed strays," the old woman
said with a shrug.

"I feel like a stray," Tarrin sighed.
"I can't go back to my den til the Dargu aren't expecting me. Then I'll
discuss the living arrangements with them one at a time," he said grimly.

"Sounds like fun," she remarked.

"Not for them, it won't be," he growled.

She cackled evilly. "I don't mind seeing a few
less Dargu in the world," she told him.

"Try about fifty," Tarrin said.

"No wonder you decided to leave," she said.

Tarrin nodded. "I can handle three or four, but
not fifty. I'm going to let them go back to my range and get comfortable, and
then I'm going to start killing them one at a time," he told her.
"Once I have them down to a managable number, then I'll start getting
unpleasant. A few very messy and graphic object lessons should let them know
that I'm back."

She cackled again. "I like you, strange
one," she said. "You have a flair for the dramatic."

"Fear is a good motivator with Dargu," Tarrin
told her, falling back on his many lessons from his father. "If I can
scare them enough, they'll leave my home range without so much as a fare thee
well. But they're brave in numbers, so I have to get rid of some of those
numbers before I can start my little terror rampage."

"You know the dog-faces pretty well," she
said clinically.

He nodded. "It's best to understand some of your
more unpleasant neighbors," he told her.

"Smart boy," she complemented.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said politely, tearing
off another chunk of chicken with his sharp teeth.

"Sounds like you have a good plan there," she
told him.

"I hope so," he replied. "We'll find
out soon."

"I reckon you will at that."

They ate in silence for a while. "How long have
you been here?" Tarrin asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I've been here all my life," she said with a
dreamy smile. "I was born on this farm, in this house, eighty years ago.
And I'll die here."

"Home is the best place to be," Tarrin agreed
calmly.

"It is indeed."

Tarrin looked down at the plate, and was surprised that
it was clean. The bones were all stripped totally bare, and he'd even found
the time to eat the carrots, although he honestly couldn't remember doing it.
"Well, that's about that," he said, looking at his plate. "I'd
best be moving on. I don't want to upset your house any more than I already have."

"Not quite yet," she said. "Since I'm
an old woman and it won't make any difference, why don't you tell me why you're
really running?" she said with a mischievious smile.

Tarrin grimaced ruefully. "I thought I was a
better liar than that," he said.

"You're a good liar, boy," she admitted with
a grin. "The problem is, I'm better at seeing the truth than you are at
lying. You wouldn't lie to a decrepid old woman, would you?"

"I thought I already did," he said.

She cackled loudly, slapping her hand on her knee
several times. "I like you, boy," she repeated. "Now then, out
with it. Who are you, and what's got you running so hard you don't have time
to take a bath?"

"My name is Tarrin," he told her honestly.
"I am running from Dargu. And Trolls, and Waern, and Bruga, and
whoever else has decided to chase me today. I have no idea why they're chasing
me, though. I came down into the human lands because they won't follow me.
There are too many humans for them to hide." He put the plate down. "I'm
supposed to be a student at the Tower of Sorcery. If I can ever get there,
that is," he sighed.

She pursed her lips. "Alot of bother for one boy,
Sorcerer or no," she said.

"That I can't answer, my boy," she said in
her gravelly voice. "But you were right. It is time for you to move on.
If you have that many people chasing you, Suld is the only place you'll be
safe. Run for the Tower, boy. They'll protect you well enough."

"I'm already working on it, ma'am," he
assured her with a smile. "How far am I from Suld, anyway?"

"It's two days from when you reach the High
road," she told him. "You should steal a horse and just run for
it."

"Steal?" he gasped.

"What, you've never heard of it? Well, you find
someone with a horse, hit him over the head, and take his horse," she told
him with a blunt grin. "You may as well take his money and his clothes,
while you're at it."

"I know what it is, but I don't like to
steal," Tarrin said. "If I did, I'd have stolen food off this
farm."

"Boy, beggars can't be choosers," she said
bluntly. "If it comes down to you living or dying, better someone loses
his horse than you losing your life."

Tarrin nodded. That was just pure wisdom, and it would
be foolish to ignore it. Mother Wynn may be old, but Tarrin saw that her mind
was sharp, and she had the wisdom of experience. "I'll think about
it," he promised, "but I don't like horses all that much. It's too
hard to hide when you have a horse." Tarrin stood up and approached
Mother Wynn, then knelt beside her and took her hand in his paw. "I
appreciate your talk, Mother Wynn," he told her honestly. "You're a
wise woman, and you made me feel much better."

"Glad someone around here appreciates an old
woman's chatter," she said with a totally fake look of suffering. Tarrin
had no doubt that everyone in the house hinged on her every word.

"Some of us can see past how someone looks,"
he said pointedly.

She harumphed, then shook her hand free of his gentle
grip. "You'd best get on with yourself, boy," she ordered.
"You're not getting any closer to Suld standing here, you know. Now
scoot."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a smile.
"Thank you, Mother Wynn."

"No need, boy," she told him. "Now
scat."

"Yes ma'am," he said. Then he left the old
woman sitting on the porch, rocking gently in the darkening evening with a
plate of chicken on her lap and a faraway look in her clear brown eyes.

It was the feeling that he was too close for anything
to go wrong that lulled him into a false sense of security, and he paid for
it. It came in the form of something hitting him in the back of the head as he
loped down the High Road towards Suld, well into the middle of the night. Tarrin
saw nothing but stars and dropped to the ground like a felled ox, rolling
several times before coming to a stop against a tree by the side of the road.
Tarrin swam in a gray haze, as he hovered right on the edge of consciousness,
not yet able to move but vaguely aware of what his ears were telling him. He
could literally feel his skull start to mend the fracture created by whatever
it was that hit him.

"Don't get too close," Tarrin heard one voice
through the haze. "I wonder what it is."

"I don't ask questions," the other one said.
"That man in the inn said anything that even remotely looks Wikuni, and
this one is close enough for me. I just don't want to carry the body back. It
looks heavy."

"Is it dead?"

"It will be in a minute," came the ominous
response.

The haze parted like a curtain, but Tarrin didn't
immediately move. He reached out with his keen senses, feeling the air,
smelling it, noticing the shifts in air against his skin and fur. There were
two of them, and they were right over him. Tarrin felt the air brush along the
side of his long tail, and he used that as a guide to slowly slither his tail
between the feet of one of them. Once it was in position, he slashed with it
as hard as he could.

Tarrin's tail wasn't anywhere near as strong as the
rest of his body. It was more for balance than for work, but the muscles in
his tail had the same proportionate strength as the rest of his body, and that
gave the slender limb formidable strength. That strength swiped the feet out
from under one of the two men, who crashed to the ground in a heavy grunt.
Tarrin rolled up on himself and slipped away from the other, springing up to
face a smallish, dark-haired man with a narrow jaw and rotting teeth, who was
holding a long dagger in his hand and a sling in the other. The other man was
a shade smaller than this man, but maybe a bit heavier. Both of them wore
common peasant clothing. The standing man gaped at him, and barely had time to
gasp before Tarrin was on him. Tarrin's huge paw closed around his neck in a
crushing grip, and Tarrin picked the smallish man off the ground by his neck
and held him out at arm's length.

"The next time you hit a man in the head with a
sling," Tarrin growled at him evilly, his eyes glowing from within with an
unholy greenish radiance, "make sure he's dead before you get this
close." Then he closed his grip around the man's neck, crushing it. The
man gurgled once, then his head flopped limply to the side as the bones in his
neck shattered.

The other man screamed in terror and scrambled to his
feet as Tarrin threw the dead body aside. That sound snapped Tarrin out of his
sudden desire for blood, and he hesitated as the other attacker turned tail and
ran, blubbering and whimpering in abject terror. Tarrin let him go; it had
been this man that had tried to kill him, and the fear would be punishment
enough for the other. Tarrin was worried more at how easily he had killed the
man, how he had done it without a second thought. Granted, he argued to
himself, the man did try to kill him. But Tarrin had killed him out of
retribution, not out of defense of his own life. And what scared him was that
he had absolutely no remorse.

Tarrin put it out of his mind as he considered the
situation. Someone somewhere was spreading some kind of story that got men out
on the road hunting down anything that looked Wikuni. Wikuni were also known
as the Animal People, so the resemblence to Tarrin was not even remotely a
coincidence. Whoever was after him was trying another tactic to get rid of
him, a tactic that had come very close to working. It made the road unsafe for
him. He rifled through the pockets of the dead man as he considered his
original plan to skirt the road from the safety of the forest. That plan was
still workable, but it meant that he would have to go quite a bit out of his
way, at least an hour's travel south.

The man had a few coppers and a silver coin in his
purse. Tarrin took it, and his dagger, and took his leather belt as well.
Tarrin's pants weren't quite so snug on him now that he'd lost weight, and he
needed something to help hold them up. The money would get him a meal in the
morning, and the dagger, like any knife, had a multitude of uses, and would
save his claws. As an afterthought, he picked up the body and slung it over
his shoulder. It would be better to leave it somewhere other than on the road.

He slunk across several farms until he reached the
treeline, being careful not to alarm the dogs on many of them, then went back
well and far enough so that the body would be eaten by scavengers long before
it started smelling bad enough to attract attention, back where the signs of
human passage were so old that it didn't matter. Then he looked up to the
Skybands and aligned himself so that he'd be travelling west. Then he left the
body, naked, the clothes neatly folded on a nearby log, and continued on
towards Suld.

Tarrin's encounter with another farming family did not
go quite so well the second time. It took three tries before he would find a
farmer or farm member that would even talk to him without running away
screaming. The screams and fear stung Tarrin terribly, but he had to admit
that as dirty and bedraggled, and as non-human, as we was, it wasn't much of a
surprise. He finally found a farmer willing to listen to him, a tall, burly
man holding a pitchfork who was standing outside his barn. Tarrin offered to
buy his breakfast, and the burly man simply gave him a gruff nod. He was given
a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a few apples in return for the copper coins
he'd taken from the assassin. Tarrin left the farm and the farmer behind,
eating his meal in the quiet safety of the forest, then he moved on. It was
important to get as far as he could before stopping, maybe even to within sight
of Suld.

He did manage that, around midday, but it wasn't quite
what he had in mind. The forest simply stopped almost half a day's walk from
the city walls, which were clearly visible well in the distance. The land
sloped down gently towards the city walls, and it was covered with nothing but
farmland and hedges separating them. He could see the fabled Tower of Sorcery
even from here, its white stone soaring out over the distant walls of the city,
and he could just barely make out a few of the six smaller towers that
surrounded the main spire. He was within sight of his goal, and that simple
realization swept a wave of relief and reassurance through him. The only
problem was to get to it. He would have to do it at night. He had too much
owned, organized land to cross to do it at any other time. Getting over the
walls wouldn't be much of a problem. There wasn't a wall made that his claws
couldn't help him climb. Once he was inside the city, it just became the
simple task of reaching the Tower without Jesmind or any other interested party
getting in his way.

Tarrin crept back from the treeline and found a nice
crutch between a large limb and a trunk, then hunkered down to sleep out the
rest of the day.

Orisen the guard stood on the high battlements of the
impressive walls of the city of Suld. They were high walls, strong walls, and
they had never fallen to an invading force. The job of guarding those walls
fell to men like Orisen, but unlike most wall watchmen of Suld, Orisen took his
duties very seriously. Every night, he prowled the city walls of the south
sector like an impatient general, his eyes scanning the dark landscape for the
slightest movement. His ears strained to hear any sound not normal for that
sector of the city at that time of the night, since Suld was such a large city
that it never truly went completely to sleep. In his illustrious ten year
career on the South wall, he'd witnessed three robberies on the streets below,
all of which had been solved and the perpetrator caught and convicted on his
testimony. He'd also been privy to one murder, which was also solved. He'd
even caught personally sixteen men that had tried to sneak either into or out
of the city at different times of the night. Orisen was a good man, and he
took his job as seriously as a surgeon did when he cut open a man. He stood at
his favorite battlement, staring out over the farmland and small village
outside the south wall, thinking how nice it was that the winter's chill was
gone, and the early summer night was much preferable to prowling the walls
wearing five cloaks and three pairs of breeches.

He never saw nor heard the ghostly shape that rose up
from the wall not ten paces to his right, darted across the twenty spans that
made up the top of the wall, and disappeared quickly over the other side.

He did perk up and rush to the city side of the wall
when the sound of a roof tile hitting the street reached him. Many thieves
liked to run the rooftops, and that sound was one of the most obvious that gave
them away. He looked over the side of the wall. He could see the tile in the
torchlight at the base of the wall, but there was nothing, and nobody, else to
be seen. Longspan Street was deserted.

Reassured, Orisen the guard went back to his serious
duty of defending the city of Suld from any and all threat, be it from inside
or outside.

Tarrin stood in the shadow of a large manor house, near
its fence, staring at the massive compound that was the Tower of Sorcery. He was a bit discouraged at what he saw. The obvious gates to the compound were
guarded by men that frightened Tarrin not a little bit.

By the time he'd gotten to the huge towers, it dawned
on him that the men guarding it would have no idea who he was. He didn't want
to get into a fight with them, and he certainly didn't want them to go crazy at
the sight of him, and more than once the thought that one of them would be
happier turning him to the people looking for him crossed his mind. But he
absolutely had to get inside. Jesmind could be behind any building, and
the men that were obviously looking for him could be readying to slide a dagger
in his back at any moment. The miasma smell of the large city, which was
surprisingly clean for its size, effectively robbed him of his most powerful
sense, his sense of smell, and the background noises prevelant in the city made
it hard for him to lock in on the faint sounds of someone sneaking up on him.
He had to get in, but he didn't want to risk trying to get in through the front
gate. He wasn't going to feel safe until he was inside that tower, and in the
presence of people that he felt he could trust. And that meant Dolanna, or
Faalken, or Walten or Tiella.

That left doing it the other way. There was a fence
surrounding the tower compound, an elegant structure of iron that rose up and
ended in a tapered curl at the top. It was only about fifteen spans high, and
it was much too elegant and showy to be very effective. It also had not one
speck of rust anywhere on it. A one-eyed man with no legs could get over that
fence in a very short amount of time, much faster than the regular patrols
Tarrin saw roaming the fence perimeter to get there in time.

But it couldn't be that easy, and he knew it. That
left only one solution. That fence had to be magic. This was the Tower of Sorcery. There were lots of people inside that could do magic. So if they were
so lax about defending such a flimsy fence, then it only stood to reason that
the fence was capable of defending itself.

A plan formed in his mind. He would get over that
fence and get to those buildings across the open area, then use them as cover
to sneak up to the overpowering presence of the central tower. Once he was
there, he would find a way to sneak in. And after he was inside, he'd just
surrender himself to the first person that walked by. They could find Dolanna,
and Dolanna could set everything straight. And then he'd be safe.

Tarrin watched the movements of the patrolling guards
closely. The men, dressed in white surcoats over a chain jack, moved in groups
of four, with one man leading, two in the middle, and one man bringing up the
rear. One man held a torch, the man in the back. That made sense, because it
kept the glaring light out of the eyes of the men that were trying to see,
while still illuminating their path. A group passed by about every ten
minutes, but they didn't move at the same pace, so that amount of time changed
randomly. Again, a good idea, because predictability was the first step down
the road to defeat, when it came to anything military. He was just going to
have to take his chances.

He waited almost another half hour, until one torch
disappeared around a distant building, and he did not see another appear around
the other corner. With a sudden lurch, he sprinted down the street that led up
to the fence. He carefully gauged its height; he couldn't even so much as let
an errant hair on his tail touch that iron. He glimpsed a spot of ruddy torch
light just as he reached the point where he had to jump, because he was going
too fast to turn aside. He sprang for all he was worth, clearing the fence
clearly by nearly the length of his own tail, and he hit the ground at a dead
run. He was across the two hundred space field in the same amount of time it
took the average man to light a torch. He disappeared from sight just as the
next patrol came around one of the buildings farther down the way.

With the stealth of the cat of which he was part, he
slunk across the massive compound, around large buildings and small ones,
across a sand-filled area that was obviously some sort of training area for
military men, then between buildings where the sounds of sleeping men could be
clearly heard. He ducked into a narrow gap between two small buildings to
avoid another patrol, then he darted across an open area to another building
that was right beside one of the six towers that surrounded the main spire.
Even the surrounding towers were huge, hundreds of spans tall, and his neck
craned as he looked up its dizzying height. The central tower was more than
twice the height of the six surrounding ones, a massive cylinder that towered
over the city the same way a lone tree towered over a meadow. The top of it
had to be at least a thousand spans in the air, and the effort and engineering
required to build it absolutely boggled his mind.

He stopped gawking like a tourist and studied the
surface of that huge central spire, easily visible even from that distance to
his light-sensitive eyes. He saw what he wanted, a balcony some hundred spans
off the ground. That was his way in.

He sprinted silently across the open ground to the
smaller tower, then circumnavigated it with an eye out for torches. Once he
was on a line with that balcony, he ran across the open area between the two
towers. He stopped at the base of it, and it loomed over him. For an
irrational moment, he thought it was about to fall over on him, as he looked up
to see where the balcony was. he squelched the squeak of surprise at that
idea, then, after a few quick looks for wandering patrols, he put his claws
into the stone. He didn't want to be discovered hanging off the wall. That
would be very inconvenient.

The tower's stones were made of some kind of white
marble or granite, and they didn't even have so much as a scratch on them.
They fit together so tightly that Tarrin had trouble finding creases to stick
his claws, and Tarrin realized that there was no mortar between the blocks. It
had to be magic holding the unimaginably huge construction together. It was
slow going up the side of the wall, because of the tight fitting stones and no
wear which would have given him places to put his claws. It took him nearly an
hour to clambor up the one hundred or so spans, and he nearly fell twice.
Sweating, exhausted, and with his belly trying to gnaw a hole through his skin,
Tarrin got his fingers around the base of the guardrail around the balcony. He
hauled himself up onto the balcony with main force, then stopped and got his
breath back while looking down over the large open yard at the base of the
tower.

He'd made it.

Now he had to get inside. Turning to the door to the
balcony, Tarrin turned the latch in his oversized paw and felt the door open.
It made no sound, but the glass paned door was pushing up against the drapes
that had been drawn over it. He pushed it out as quietly as he could and
slithered in through the opening. He found himself in a rather large, lushly
appointed bedchamber, complete with a slumbering occupant. It was a woman, by
her scent, but there wasn't enough light in the room for him to get the best of
looks at her. She stirred slightly as Tarrin closed the door to her balcony.
Tarrin wanted to be caught, but he decided that being caught in a woman's
bedchamber was not the best way to go about it.

He padded across her carpeted floor as silent as death,
then snuck through the door on the opposite wall after opening it to make sure
that it wasn't a closet. He found himself in a large hallway that curved very
gently to one side, which was illuminated by curious globes that hung from the
ceiling, globes that gave off a milky white light, but no obvious heat.

There was nobody to be seen. He couldn't even hear
anyone.

He yawned. He wanted to be captured, but there was
nobody about to go to the trouble. He was exhausted, and hungry, and filthy,
but the only one of those he could remedy was the exhaustion. He'd find some
quiet, dark place to lay down for a while, then he'd let himself get caught in
the morning, when there were people awake.

It took him only a few minutes to find an empty
bedchamber. From the smell of it, this chamber wasn't used by anyone, so he
was rather sure that nobody would bother him until he was awake and good and
ready to be captured. He took no notice of the room other than its empty
smell, then flopped down heavily on a soft feather bed. He didn't care if his
filthy clothes were dirtying the covers. He'd made it. He was in the Tower of Sorcery.

Now he felt safe.

Tarrin fell immediately into a deep, dreamless slumber,
a look of calm contentment on his face.

Chapter
7

Tarrin awoke slowly, and for a moment, he forgot where
he was. He was warm and content, and the early summer sun washed through a
partially curtained window. As he awoke he wondered why mother hadn't woken
him up before now. But the tingling sensation in his tail from where he'd been
laying on it brought him back to the present, as did the gnawing hollowness in his
belly. He was still filthy and half starved, but at least he was warm and
safe. That almost made up for it.

It was an effort to get out of the soft feather bed.
Tarrin saw that he was in a very lushly appointed bedchamber, very much like
the one that he'd came in through the night before. It had the soft bed, two
nightstands to either side of it, a chest for clothes at the foot, a stand for
a washbasin, a writing desk in the corner, and an armoire to hang clothes that
were too delicate to be folded. There was a small tea table in the corner by
the glass-pane door that led to another balcony. The walls were adorned with
tapestries, one a simple geometric design that was pleasing to the eye and the
other a scene depicting a solitary knight riding his charger across a grassy
meadow. He stood by the bed for a moment, feeling a bit dizzy from having to
exert himself. Now that he'd made it, he was allowing himself to feel every
little ache and feel the weakness of several days with almost no food.

Now to the business of getting himself captured. It
was going to be an easy affair, he was certain. All he had to do was go out
into the hall and just wander around until he crossed paths with someone. That
someone could almost certainly tell him where to go, or maybe that person could
direct him to Dolanna. Either way, he would be more than satisfied. He had no
idea if Dolanna even knew he was still alive, and he wondered if she was
worrying about him. He'd been too busy with Jesmind, and then with getting
away from Jesmind, to even consider what had happened to his friends after he'd
left them on the other side of the river. He hoped that they'd not had the
same trouble he'd had with Goblinoids, and that their trip to Suld was a quiet
one.

Taking a deep breath, Tarrin went up to the door and
opened it. Not even approaching the farmers had been quite so difficult.
Mainly because he was starving when he approached the farmers, and hunger
dulled much of the fear of encountering people. Despite his newfound comfort
with what he had become, he was still very much insecure about how others would
react to him, and he found himself to be desperately afraid that people would
want to have nothing to do with him now that he was no longer human. Tarrin
was used to being alone much of the time, but before he always had his family.
Now he had nobody, and that frightened him more than a little. Being alone in
a crowd was the worst way to be alone, because one had a whole group of people
around to remind one of just how alone one was.

The hall was quiet and deserted. Tarrin could smell
traces of human scent, which were rather fresh. Though the hall was empty now,
people did come down it with fair regularity. He had a choice of left or
right. Since it really didn't matter to him which way to go, Tarrin went in
the direction that seemed to have the stronger human smell, which was to the
left. The hallway curved ever-so-gently to the right, so he couldn't see very
far down it to look for people.

Tarrin's first encounter in the Tower was almost by
surprise. It was with a rather small woman wearing a simple gray dress with a
white apron over it. She was obviously a maid or servant. She came up the
hall in the direction that he was walking, and stopped dead when she saw him.
He was about to greet her, but she gave out a shrill scream that hurt Tarrin's
ears, turned the other way, and ran for all she was worth.

Tarrin sighed audibly, and then he couldn't help but
laugh. All the trouble he'd gone through to get here, and now nobody wanted to
talk to him. He couldn't get himself caught.

He didn't smell the two humans until they were nearly
up the stairs that descended to his right. They were both young, not even
twenty, and it seemed obvious to Tarrin that they had come in response to the
woman's scream. There was a young man and a young woman. The young man was
wearing a pair of simple brown wool trousers and a blue shirt, and the young
woman was wearing a plain red dress, devoid of any adornment. They were both
attractive young humans, the man with brown hair and dark eyes, and the woman
with black hair and grayish eyes that stood out. They both gaped at him in
shock, then they too turned to run back down the stairs.

"Stop!" Tarrin barked in a voice that cracked
like a whip. They did so, instantly. They didn't even turn around to look at
him. "Go find a Sorcerer, any Sorcerer, and bring them back here. Tell
them that there's a Were-cat in the Tower, and to come see what it wants right
away. I'm going to wait right where I'm standing." They hesitated.
"Well? Move!"

They bolted down the stairs.

Tarrin leaned he back against the wall, idly checking
the claws on his fingers for splits or other damage. He was starting to get
surly about the whole affair. Getting himself caught wasn't supposed to be
this much work.

Another man rushed up from the direction the maid had
run, and the sound of metal jingling told Tarrin it was a guard long before he
rounded the curve. He was a young man, burly, with a blue surcoat over a chain
jack. He was carrying a drawn sword. He had dark hair and dark eyes, which
were a bit wild at the sight of the emaciated Were-cat. "Oh, put the
sword away," Tarrin snapped at him churlishly.

The man came to a stop and stared at him, obviously at
a loss as to what to do. Tarrin marvelled at the base intelligence of the
occupants of this tower. "Put the sword away," he said in a slow
tone, as if addressing a child. "Turn around and go find someone in
charge. Tell that someone that there is a Were-cat in the tower that wants to
talk to someone with a mind. Bring them right back to this spot."

He too just stood there.

"Go!" Tarrin snapped.

He hastily turned and trotted away, still carrying his
sword.

Tarrin leaned his head back against the wall. For
their defense, he realized that his appearance here was probably a bit
shocking. As formidable as the defenses and security were around the compound,
it was probably quite unusual to see someone that looked like him prowling the
halls. But that was three people off to bring back someone that he could talk
to. He was sure that it wouldn't be very long.

The young man and woman indeed returned, not a moment
later, with someone with them. He was a mature man, probably around forty, with
specks of gray disturbing the continuity of his dark hair. He was thin and
studious looking, with a long face and smallish ears, and his eyes were
decorated by a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sitting on the end of his nose.
His brown eyes seemed to take in the entirety of Tarrin with only a single
glance. He was wearing a severely plain brown robe, with a leather belt around
his waist from which two leather pouches and a small dagger hung.

"Are you a Sorcerer?" Tarrin asked abruptly.

"Yes," he replied. "My name is Sevren
Dallinson. Who might you be, stranger, and what business do you have with
us?"

"My name is Tarrin Kael," he replied.
"I was supposed to be coming with a Sorceress named Dolanna Casbane, but
we were separated on the way here. If you could send someone to go get her,
she can explain everything."

"I'm afraid I don't know all my sisters by
name," he said dubiously. "Initiate, what is your name?" he
asked the young woman.

"Tryla, Master," she replied obediently.

"Tryla, go to the Council of Seven and tell them
of this development," he ordered. "Report that this visitor is
looking for Dolanna Casbane. When you are done there, come back to, that
room," he said, pointing to a door a bit down the hall. "We will be
waiting there."

She curtsied to him, then turned and hurried down the
stairs.

"Wendall, go to the kitchens and fix a very large
tray of food. And bring some wine. Bring it back to us. Make sure it has
plenty of meat," he ordered.

"Yes, Master Sevren," he said with a bow,
then he too rushed off.

"You look about half starved," the Sorcerer
noted with an appraising eye at Tarrin. "We can eat while we wait."

"If you can stand the way I smell, I'd be happy to
have you at the table," Tarrin said with a rueful look.

"You must have had a rough time," he said.
"Come, let's go sit. You can tell me more while we eat and wait. It
looks to me like you're having enough trouble standing."

"To be honest, Master Sevren, this wall is about
the only thing holding me up," he admitted with a chuckle.

Sevren offered out his arm to the Were-cat, who took it
after only a moment's hesitation. He led Tarrin into the room, which was an
almost exact copy of the bedchamber in which Tarrin had slept. These had to be
guest quarters of some kind. They sat down at the table, and Tarrin yawned and
stretched in his seat. "So, what was bringing you to our Tower?"
Sevren asked curiously. "We don't get many of the Woodland folk
here."

"You know what I am?" he asked in some
surprise.

"I'm familiar with your kind, but I've never met a
Were-kin before," he admitted.

"Well, it's not that I was coming here for any
serious reason," he said, then he recanted some of the story of their trip
from Aldreth. He didn't really talk about Jesmind. What he felt for her, and
what had happened still seemed too private to discuss with a total stranger.
But despite being a stranger, Tarrin rather liked Sevren. He was a calm,
thoughtful man that had quickly eased most of Tarrin's fears with a few simple
words and one act of kindness. Offering to help Tarrin into the room had told
him much of what made up the sober looking man, and Tarrin could honor and
respect that about him. That was why Tarrin told him anything at all.

He absorbed what Tarrin had to say. "If you don't
mind, I may study some of the outward effects of your transformation," he
said. "I know it sounds like I want to study you like a bug, but you have
to admit that this is a good chance to learn. And what we discover may help
someone else that has this happen."

"No, I really don't mind all that much,"
Tarrin told him. "I know what it was like for me, and I'd rather not have
anyone have to go through it," he said with a shudder. Being used to it
still didn't mean that he liked it. One could get used to a missing
arm, but that was no reason to lop one off. "If I can help make it easier
on them, then I don't mind at all."

"That's a good lad," he said with a smile.

The door opened, and three women entered, flanked by
two armed guards, with the Initiate behind them. Two of them were unknown to
him, but the third, dressed in a dark blue silk dress, was Dolanna. Tarrin
smiled broadly and stood, ignoring the other two women to accept Dolanna's hand
as she reached him. He stared into her eyes for a moment, then pulled her
close and embraced her. She coughed and wheezed, then said "Tarrin, I
need my ribs in one piece" in a gasping voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm just glad to see that you're
alright," he said. "Are Faalken and--"

"They are all well," she assured him.
"Tiella and Walten have already entered the Novitiate. Faalken has
returned to the Academy, where he instructs pupils when not accompanying
me." She pushed him away slightly. "Tarrin, may I present the
Keeper," she said, motioning.

The woman to which she motioned was a very small woman,
even smaller than Dolanna herself. She had dark hair, nearly black, that was
streaked in a few places with silver, and was as petite as she was short. She
was more handsome than she was pretty, just coming into her middle years, but
in her dark eyes Tarrin saw a hardness that came with being a ruler. He could
almost smell the aura of power around the small woman, an aura that made her
seem to be much larger than she actually was. She wore no badge of her rank,
only a simple silk dress in a modest brown, but it was obvious just looking at
her that she was a woman of great power and importance. Those hard eyes took
Tarrin in in a single glance, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable standing
there in his filthy clothes.

"You're as thin as a stick," she noted in a
clear, strong voice.

"Running for your life can do that, ma'am,"
he replied calmly. Tarrin didn't like this woman. He wasn't sure why, but he
did not. It was a gut feeling, an instinctive reaction, but he did not like
her.

"So I've been told. Well, you've made it, young
one, and we can all be happy of that." She sat down at the table, and the
other woman followed her. She was a rather tall woman with black hair and very
pale skin, wearing a yellow silk dress that was cut rather low in the front.
Silk seemed to be the fabric of choice in the Tower among the ladies. The
woman had a very pretty face, and was obviously very young, but her dark eyes
were expressionless. It gave Tarrin the chills to look into them. It was like
looking into the eyes of a corpse. "Because you look about ready to fall
over, we'll put off formally admitting you into the Novitiate for two days, so
you can rest a bit and get back some of your strength," she told him.
"Until then, feel free to look around, but you're not to leave the Tower
grounds. Although you're not officially a Novice yet, you should start abiding
by the rules that all Novices follow. I've sent for Elsa Gaarnhold, the
Mistress of Novices. Where you sleep and what you'll need will be her
responsibility. She'll also provide you with some new clothes and show you
where things are."

The young man Sevren had sent for food returned with a
tray heavily laden with roasted chicken and goose. Tarrin's mouth started
watering the instant the smell of it touched his nose. "A good
idea," she remarked, standing up. "I'll leave you to your meal,
young one. I'm sure you'd like to stay, Dolanna, so please do so."

"Thank you, Keeper," Dolanna said quietly.

"Elsa should be along in a while. Just wait here
for her." They all stood, and then the Keeper and the dead-eyed woman
with the yellow dress left without so much as a word.

"Strange," Sevren said calmly.

Tarrin didn't waste any time. He sat down at the table
where the young man had set the tray and attacked the food with a vengence.
The young man left, and Sevren and Dolanna sat down at the table with Tarrin.
Sevren and Dolanna exchanged polite introductions, and Tarrin offered each of
them something off the tray.

"Thank you," Dolanna said, pouring glasses of
wine for each of them. Tarrin wondered how the man knew to bring more than two
glasses. "Tarrin, what happened after we separated? I have been worrying
for you."

"It's a very long story, Dolanna," he said
between bites. "To make it short, I ran into Jesmind."

"Jesmind?"

"Her," he said calmly.

"Ah. She came to find you?"

"She'd been following us the whole time," he
replied. He gave Sevren a cautionary glance. "Sevren, I just met you, but
I think I can trust you. Promise me that what you're about to heat goes no
farther than this room."

"You have my word, my boy," he said
immediately.

"She didn't know who collared her," he told
Dolanna. "She can't remember anything that happened while it was on her
neck. The only reason she knew about me was because you took off the collar
with her in sight of me."

"I hope that it was not a bad occurrance,"
she sighed.

"It is now," he grimaced. "She was
taking me back into the Frontier. I kept trying to convince her to come to
Suld with me, but she wouldn't hear of it. So I ran away from her. And she
was not happy about it."

"I feared as much," she said in a heavy
voice.

"She's going to try to kill me, Dolanna. There's
no doubt in my mind. She's decided I'm a Rogue because I refused to learn what
she has to teach me, and that means that I'm marked. The people here should
know that Jesmind will come here, and when she does, she'll try to kill
me."

"I will let the Keeper know. She will be the one
that will have to take steps."

"That's why I'm in such sorry condition," he
said. "I wasn't sure if she was right behind me, but I wasn't about to
take the chance. I've been running almost constantly for the last fifteen days
or so. Dinner was whetever I could find during a ten minute stop to
rest."

"Well, you have made it, my dear one," she
said with a gentle smile, putting her hand over his paw.

"Only just," he sighed. "The entire
forest north and west of Suld is literally crawling with Goblinoids. Maybe
someone should be told about that. There may be enough out there to come down
and attack a fair sized town."

"That should be passed along," Sevren noted.

"There were also humans around trying to kill
me," he told her. "I was almost done in by a little rat of man with
a sling. I found out that someone was paying a reward for dead bodies of
anyone even remotely resembling a Wikuni travelling on the High Road. I just
hope no innocent Wikuni were killed."

"Dear one, Wikuni almost never leave sight of the
sea," she told him. "They are almost married to the ocean. That is
why Wikuni are so rare outside of harbor towns."

"What else did the man tell you?" Sevren
asked.

"Not much. I killed him pretty soon after I shook
off getting hit in the head with the rock," Tarrin shrugged. "I
wasn't exactly thinking straight, else I would have grilled him for more before
I killed him."

Tarrin missed the slightly worried look Sevren passed
to Dolanna, and her very slight gesture to leave it be.

"Have you been having the dreams?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Jesmind did teach me
a little bit before we split. She taught me how to make them stop. That's at
least one good thing that came of it." He put down a stripped goose leg
bone. "She also taught me how to shapeshift. It's actually pretty
easy."

"Did she teach you anything else?"

"Not really," he replied. "We were only
together a few days, and we spent alot of that trying to sneak around the
Goblinoids that were all over the place." He decided not to tell her
about the night they'd spent together. That was too private, even to discuss
it with Dolanna. "What happened after the Wyvern sunk the ship?" he
asked.

"There were several casualties among the
crew," she replied. "We helped them as best we could, and then we
took another ship south. It was a very uneventful trip after you left us.
That leads me to believe that you were the reason for it."

"I was," he said. "Whoever it was
that's after me certainly didn't stop after the Wyvern. I spent most of my
time running from Jesmind and dodging Goblinoids at the same time."

"Are you sure that they were after you?"
Sevren asked. "I'm assuming here that by Goblinoid you mean more than
one race. They don't usually cooperate."

"These were," he replied. "I saw a
Dargu tribe meet with a Waern tribe, and the chieftans spoke without drawing
weapons. That's not right, because Waern consider Dargu a delicacy. They're
working together. And that means that there's someone that's telling them what
to do that they fear more than they hate the others."

"A very grim suggestion," he said, stroking
his chin in thought. "I think that the King should know about this. A
coordinated horde of goblinoids could storm any city in Sulasia, except for
Suld." He picked up a slice of beef. "They may decide to pick a few
cities in their leisure time."

The door opened, and a huge woman entered. She was
wearing a pair ofblack trousers and a brown shirt, and her long, thick blond
hair was done up in a simple braid that was as thich around as Tarrin's wrist,
and reached almost to her backside. Her face was strong but very handsome, and
she had a sword belted at her waist. There was no doubt that she was
Ungaardt. Tarrin stood and eyed her calmly as she closed the door and
approached them. "Vasra guhn," Tarrin greeted. Tarrin had
been taught the language of the Ungaardt by his mother. They used it often,
especially since Eron had never gotten around to learning it.

"Vasra dughus," she noted with
surprise. "What clan?" she asked in the Ungaardt tongue.

"Vashtalla," he replied. "You?"

"Emden," she replied.

"We are cousins," Tarrin noted, holding out
his paw to her. "Greeting, cousin. Honor to Dallstad."

"Honor and glory," she replied, clasping his
wrist in a strong grip. "It's nice to meet someone with manners,"
she said in the common tongue, grinning. "You're Ungaardt under that fur,
and dirt."

"Half," he admitted. "My mother is of
the blood." "Of the blood" was the way the Ungaardt referred to
themselves.

"You look Ungaardt," she noted clinically.
"You take after your mother. You are also of the blood, no matter who
your father was. A good thing for you."

"I'm happy with it," he said. Ungaardt were
a very arrogant people, and just agreeing with her was the easiest way to keep
the peace.

"But you're also a Novice, and I'm the Mistress of
Novices. Don't expect any preferential treatment just because we're
cousins," she said in a steely voice.

"I don't expect any," he replied.

"Good. I'm going to take you to the Novice
quarters," she told him. "We'll get you some clean clothes, give you
a room, and I'll show you where you can bathe."

"Yes!" he said fervently.

"You are a bit fragrant," Dolanna noted.

"Dolanna, if I smell that bad to you, just imagine
how I smell to me," he told her.

She laughed. "Yes, that nose is very much a
liability, is it not?" she asked with a smile.

"At the moment, yes," he said with a grunt.

"As of this moment, she's Mistress Dolanna,"
Elsa said bluntly. "And you're a Novice, just like any other Novice.
Come along, Tarrin, and we'll get you washed and dressed."

"Yes, Mistress Elsa," he said calmly. He'd
kiss a Dragon for the chance to take a bath.

"Dolanna, you can see him later," Elsa
instructed her.

"I'll talk to you about arranging time with
Tarrin," Sevren told her. "He's agreed to let me do some
studies."

"As long as it doesn't cut into his class time,
we'll talk about it," she told him. "Let's get moving, Tarrin."

The halls of the Tower were wide, and they were all lit
by those softly glowing globes. From as far as he could tell, they simply
hovered in midair near the ceiling. Another thing that he noticed was that the
floors were carpeted out in the halls. That was unusual, and it had to be frightfully
expensive if every hall was like this, considering the awesome size of the
building. They went down stairs quite a ways, all the way to the ground floor,
and he saw that the carpeting did indeed stop. The hallways in the sector of
the Tower to which she took him were just as wide, but there were many, many
more doors set into the walls. The floors and walls were absolutely spotless,
and not a cobweb could be found anywhere. There were also many people. They
were universally young, in their mid teens, from pale, tall Ungaardt to stocky
Dals to swarthy Arkisians. Even one or two olive-skinned people from the Free
Duchies between Shacč and Arkis. They were wearing either plain white wool
dresses or white wool shirts and brown wool trousers. They all wore exactly
the same kind of leather shoes. They all stared at Tarrin in shock, and more
than one shrank away from him as Elsa led him deep into the domain of the
Novices.

"These are the halls of the Novices," she
told him as they walked along. "There are three levels above this one
also. My office door is at the end of this hall. Pray that you're not called
in there." She pointed down a side hall. "At the end of that hall
is the Novice Hall," she said. "It is where you will eat, and it is
also where you will gather for any assemblies called for the Novices. The
classrooms where you will receive your instruction are on the third and fourth
levels. I'll have someone else show you all the little things. For right now,
we're going to worry about the main things."

They stopped in front of a door. "This will be
your room," she said. He noticed that it was within sight of the plain
wooden door with her name on a wooden plaque which was nailed to the door. She
was keeping him well within her sight. "You will have a roommate,
Tarrin. We are not treating you any differently than any other Novice. Right
now, he's probably in class." She opened the door. Inside the
surprisingly large room were two narrow beds, both neatly made, with a strong,
sturdy chest at the foot of each bed. Each bed also had a stand to the side of
it, and there was a small writing table, with one chair, between them against
the far wall. There were two pegs on the wall on each side of the room, and on
the right side, one peg was occupied with a plain wool robe, and the other had
a brown cloak hanging from it. Tarrin saw that hanging on the wall on the
right side were pieces of paper with very elaborate sketches. Many of them
were the towers and buildings of the compound, but there were also several
sketches of people. One of them, he saw, was Elsa. And it was remarkably well
done. Whoever had done them had a natural talent for art. "See how clean
this room is?" she asked. "It had best stay this way. Now then,
let's go see the Quartermaster and get you clothing."

The Quartermaster was on the second level, in a large
room that was filled with shelves, those shelves holding assorted items and
articles. The Quartermaster himself was a small wiry man, approaching his golden
years, with a bald pate fringed with gray hair. His face was drawn, as thin as
he was, but Tarrin saw that he moved with a spry step that belied his advanced
years. he wore a simple brown coat over a white shirt, with brown trousers,
and he had several stick pins stuck to the sleeves of his coat. He had several
Novices and similarly young people with colored shirts or dresses rather than
white. Those, he'd managed to deduce, were Initiates, in the step above the
Novices. "Madam Elsa," he greeted in a scratchy voice, eyeing Tarrin
warily. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, this could be a challenge," he said,
studying Tarrin. "Is he always so thin?"

"He should fill out a bit," Elsa said.

"Turn around," the man told Tarrin, and he
did so. "That tail is going to cause a problem," he said.
"I'll have to put a button in the back for it. I'll just have to cut
holes in the underclothing."

"Do you have anything just for now?" she asked.

"We could put him in a robe until I get his pants
sewn," he offered.

"That's a good idea," she agreed.

"Do you commonly wear shoes, Novice?" he
asked.

"No sir," he said, holding up a leg and
letting him see the rough pads on the bottom of his feet. "My feet do
well enough for me."

"Good, I don't have any shoes big enough for those
feet," he said, "and those claws would cut them up pretty quickly
anyway.

"Let me measure you, and then I'll get to work on
some pants," he said, taking a knotted cord out of his pocket, the knots
tied at regular intervals along its length. "Go behind that screen and
take off the shirt and pants." The affair took about ten minutes, for the
wiry Quartermaster was quite adept at what he was doing. He would wrap that knotted
cord around some part of Tarrin's body, and then write down the resulting
measurement on a slate board he'd taken off a table. Tarrin was a bit antsy
when the man casually wrapped that cord around the base of his tail to measure
its width. He was unaware of how sensitive that particular place was, but
Tarrin didn't do anything. He just stayed still and let him get it overwith.
In a very short time, he had Tarrin thoroughly measured, and had taken
reference measurements from Tarrin's current pants. The man gave him an old,
worn out robe to wear, for he adamantly refused to give back the filthy, ripped
clothing Tarrin had been wearing. "I'll be sure to leave room for him to
fill them out," he told Elsa. "From his current clothes, I have a
good idea of how much that's going to be. He can wear that old frayed robe to
the bathing pool, and he can wear this one until he gets these clothes."
He pointed at a folded garment that had been placed on a table by a Novice.

"When will they be ready?" Elsa asked.

"I can have them for you tomorrow morning,"
he replied.

"Very good. Come along, Tarrin, we'll get you
clean."

They went down into a basement, and he was quite
surprised. In the basement was a huge pool of water, one end of it steaming,
and it was occupied by a surprising number of people who were bathing. Both
men and women. There were many chairs set around the bathing pool which were
filled with clothing and towels, and there were several Novices scurrying about
tending the baths. The water smelled heavy to his nose, and he realized that
it was minerals in the water, the minerals of a natural hot spring. A most
ingenious way to build a communal bath and keep the water hot.

"Surprised?" she asked.

"A bit, ma'am," he responded.

"There's just the one pool, and since we all don't
have the same hours, it would be impossible to divide the time. Don't worry,
you'll get used to it. It takes some people longer than others, but you will.
Everyone uses this pool. You, me, the Novices, Initiates, Sorcerers, guards,
servants, and visitors. Even the Keeper herself bathes here."

Tarrin felt absolutely no reservations about
undressing, he realized. The time with Jesmind had indeed changed him, in more
ways than one. Or maybe the time with her had allowed him to come more into
contact with the Cat within him. Either way, he realized soberly in that
instant that he was changing, he was adapting to his Cat instincts. And, in
some ways, they were starting to have a serious influence on his views and mannerisms.

He unbelted the robe immediately, and pulled it off his
shoulders, then draped it over the back of a chair. She laughed richly.
"That didn't take very long," she said as he stood beside her nude.

"I'm not human, Mistress Elsa," he reminded her
gently. "My idea of modesty isn't the same as yours."

"Point taken," she acceded. "Is there
anything else I should know? Anything special you'll need?"

"No," he replied. "I don't need
anything special, ma'am. My blood is dangerous to humans, but let me be the
one to worry about that problem."

"Yes, you would be the best to deal with it,"
she agreed. "And telling everyone that you're contagious may not endear
them to you."

"I can do without that added stress, ma'am,"
he told her, giving the hot water a longing look.

"I'll leave you to your bath now," she told
him. "I'll send someone to take you back to your room."

"I can make it back on my own, ma'am," he
replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, ma'am," he said. "I can find
it. I'd like to walk around and see things after the bath, anyway."

"Alright then," she said. "Just don't
get lost."

"No chance of that, ma'am," he told her.
"I can follow my own scent trail back if I don't know where I am."

"Your nose is that sensitive?"

He nodded.

"Interesting. Have a good bath. Don't get
waterlogged."

She left him as he lowered himself immediately into the
water. It was tepid, and he discovered that it got hotter as one moved towards
the far end of the pool. He waded in the waist deep water until he reached a
delightfully hot temperature, then picked up a cake of soap that was sitting on
a tray between the outer and the inner lip of the pool. He saw that there were
two edges to the pool, the upper one and a lower one near the water level, that
was just below the surface of the water. The water poured over that edge in a
very thin stream, then was channeled away to a drain that removed the excess.
He noted that that skimmed the soap foam and dirt out of the water and carried
it away, keeping the water clean for other bathers. A very clever design.

He scrubbed at himself for a very long time, washing
over twenty days of dirt and sweat and leaves and bark and all other manner of
things off his skin and out of his fur. It was a bit hard to get at his tail,
but he managed to scrub the formidable dirt out of it and comb out the mats
with his claws. He unbound his hair and washed it thoroughly, watching as dirt
and bits of bark and leaves, and a couple of dead flies and mosquitos, washed
out of his hair and were carried away by the gentle flow towards the edge. He
climbed up onto the edge of the pool to thorougly soap down and lather the dirt
out of the fur on his legs, then he combed the mats out after dropping back
into the water to rinse.

During the bath, he'd come to realize how thin he'd
gotten. His ribs stuck out like bare branches, and every muscle he had was
visible to the eye as he moved. The heavy meal had done wonders for him,
though, and he could literally feel how much weight he'd gained since then. He
suspected that it was the semi-magical power of regeneration that Jesmind said
they possessed at work there, using the food he'd eaten to quickly put meat
back on his bones. He was already hungry again. He was going to have to find
out if he could get more to eat. He had the idea that if he ate heavily for a
day or so, his regenerative ability would flesh him back out in almost no time.

He felt like an entirely new person when he climbed out
of the water and shook much of the water out of his fur. He was clean, warm,
safe, secure, and he would soon be full. The trials of the journey to Suld
were quickly fading into his memories. He felt the eyes on him, but unlike the
sensation he'd felt when he was on the run, he didn't mind these eyes. Some of
them were in fear, but the look on one blond woman who was in the bathing pool
was one of appreciation, not fear. Jesmind's prediction that he would come to
not mind being nude in the presence of others had come to pass, he knew. The Cat
had taken that much of a hold on his mind. And he found that he welcomed it.

He took a towel from an edgy Novice girl and dried
himself off, then sat down on a chair, nude, and tried futilely to try to braid
his hair back up. His huge paws made the task extremely difficult, and he came
close to using his claws to shear it off more than once. He knew how futile
that would be. It would grow back in a matter of hours, and may end up growing
back longer than it was now. He didn't want to risk that. Having it three
quarters of the way down his back was more than long enough.

"You look like you could use some help," a
voice called.

He looked up. It was the blond woman who'd been in the
pool, with a towel wrapped around herself. Her face was young and very pretty,
with deep blue eyes that sparkled in the light and the classic high-cheekboned,
delicate face that made Draconian women famous for their beauty. Her common
mode of speech marked her as a Tykini, from the breakaway kingdom of Tykarthia. "I do have trouble with it," he admitted.

"Here, let me," she said. She went around
behind the chair, and he felt her take up his damp hair in her hands.
"Why do you grow it so long?" she asked.

"Because it just grows back," he replied.

"Hair this long must have taken you years,"
she noted, starting to pull his hair into sections for braiding.

"No, hours," he told her.

"Really?"

"It's racial," he said delicately.

"Ah," she sounded. He could feel her hands
swiftly begin to intertwine his hair into a single thick braid.

"You're good at this," he noted.

"I have five sisters, and braids are a very common
hairstyle in Tykarthia," she said. "Not as popular as they are in
Tor, but popular enough. Have you ever seen a Torian woman?"

"No."

"They put their hair into as many tiny little
braids as they can," she told him. "Sometimes they weave beads into
the ends. I shudder to think of how long that takes."

"They must have alot of time on their hands,"
he noted.

"Truly," she agreed. "My name is
Jula," she introduced.

"I'm Tarrin," he responded.

"You're visiting?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to enter the
Novitiate," he told her.

She laughed. "Then I'd best not let too many
people see this," she told him. "I'm katzh-dashi. If they
see me braiding the hair of Novices, I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know
who you were."

"I didn't know who you were either," she
said. "Down here in the baths, it's not easy to tell. It's not like I
have the shaeram tattooed on my bosom."

"I think that would be a bit ostentatious,"
he said sagely.

"Not to mention painful," she agreed.
"Do you have a bit of twine or thong?" she asked. "I need to
tie this in, or it'll unravel itself."

"I think I have the old one somewhere," he
said. "No, wait, I undid it in the pool. I forgot about it."

"Not a problem," she said. "I'll cinch
it so it'll hold itself for a while, but you need to--" She stopped as
Tarrin, who had his old, frayed robe in hand, ripped a bit of cloth off the
hem, then handed it to her. "I hope you're not quite that hard on your
clothes," she said with a bit of a laugh, taking it from him and tying it
to the end of his braid. "Want me to make a pretty little bow in
it?"

"No thank you," he said dryly.

"We don't have too many non-humans in the
Tower," she told him as she knotted the torn fabric and then came back
around him. "I think there are a couple of Wikuni that act as emissaries
of a sort, but that's about all. If I may ask, what race are you?"

"I'm not Wikuni," he told her. "I'm a
Were-cat."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes brightening.
"We'll definitely have to talk. I have an interest in the non-human
races, and most Were-kin are very tight-lipped. Well, it will have to wait, I
guess," she sighed. "I need to get dressed and get to the class I'm
teaching before they think I'm not showing up." She went over to the next
chair and dropped her towel without so much as batting an eyelash. Tarrin
noted that she had an exquisitely shaped body. She was very lovely. Her figure
almost compared to Jesmind's.

Tarrin pulled the new robe on and belted it at his
waist, then gathered up the old one. He realized that they didn't tell him
what to do with it. He decided to take it back to his room and drop it off.
He'd ask about it later.

"What do I do with the towel?" he asked Jula
as she pulled her shift over her head and settled it into place.

"Just leave it," she told him. "A
Novice will pick it up in a while."

"Thank you, Mistress Jula, for the braid," he
said.

"Any time, Tarrin," she told him, shrugging
herself into a robe. Obviously, she would wear that back to her chambers,
where she would dress. And the sight and thought of that told him that this
robe he was wearing was his. He was supposed to hang it on that peg on the
wall.

He couldn't follow his scent-trail all the way back,
since they'd come from the Quartermaster's so he went up to the first level and
wandered until he saw something that looked famliar. From there, he quickly
found the central hall, and followed it down to the door to his room. He
noticed that there were no locks on the doors. Opening it, he saw the room
much as it was before, except for a neatly folded pair of trousers and a shirt
resting on the bed. He also saw, to his own surprise, a single leather pack
sitting in front of it, and his staff was sitting in the corner. Dolanna had
had his things all this time? He was impressed, and a little relieved when he
realized that the Box had been in that pack. Going to it quickly, he noticed a
note resting on top of the pack, and another note sitting atop the clothes.
The note on the clothes was from the Quartermaster.

Master Tarrin:

I finished this set, and decided to bring it
so you had more to wear than a robe. You can pick up your other four sets of
clothes in the morning. They will be ready for you.

The second note was from Dolanna.

Tarrin:

We managed to recover this pack from the
wreck of the ship. Thank Faalken for this, it was his quick thinking that
saved our belongings. I dried them out as best I could with magic, and I do
believe that nothing was damaged. It took some doing to recover your staff,
but I knew how much it meant to you, so I decided that it was worth the
effort. By the way, what is in this pack will be held in the strictest
confidence. It was obvious to me that what is within are things that you hold
dear for sentimental reasons. It will remain a private matter.

This evening at sunset, I think you should
visit the library. It is easy to find. I am certain that you will find it to
be an interesting place.

Tarrin folded the note carefully, and then opened his
pack. It was obvious from the letter that Dolanna wanted to talk to him, and
without the Keeper or a stranger around. It would be no problem. Since he
wasn't really a Novice yet, even if his excursion broke a rule, it wasn't a
rule that applied to him. Then he unpacked his pack to check things.

The Box was alright. The four items inside, the tooth,
the piece of quartz, the gold nugget, and his treasured wing, were just fine.
They showed not a sign of being dunked in the water. Neither did the box. His
small daggers were in the pack, and so was his larger one, which surprised
him. He thought he'd lost the item he'd won at staffs in the fair. His
shaving razor was there, but not the soap. But then again, he didn't need the
razor. With a start, he realized that he'd not shaved once since being
bitten. And his face was hairless. That he didn't mind, for he didn't like
beards and he hated shaving even more. His sleeping mat, tent, and cooking pot
were absent, probably lost, but this pack, with his clothes and his personal
items, it was what was important.

He placed the pack in the chest at the foot of his
bed. The clothes in the pack were his sturdy leather clothes, and he wanted to
keep them. A bit of cutting with a knife or claw would free up a place for his
tail in his pants, and that was all that really mattered. He took off the robe
and dressed in the Novice's clothes that had been left for him, and hung his
robe on the wall on the peg. Then he went to his staff.

The sturdy Ironwood showed not a sign of any duress,
but that was usual for it. It took something like a blazing inferno to mark
Ironwood. It seemed almost feather-light to him now, but he could feel every
indentation on the wood intimately, and it felt just the same as he
remembered. He was just stronger, and that made the very heavy wood feel
lighter. His hands were now paws, and were much larger. He knew he'd have to
practice with the staff to get used to the different grips he'd need to use it,
now that his hands were so different. And learn how to use his natural
weaponry in harmony with it.

The door opened. Tarrin stood by the bed calmly, staff
in paw, and regarded the young man that entered. He was a bit tall for his
age, which looked to be around fifteen, and he had the dark, swarthy skin that
marked him as an Arksian. His hair was black as pitch, long and done up in an
attractive side-parted style, and his eyes were a rich almond brown, almost
like amber. He too wore the white shirt and brown pants of a Novice, and he
had a book in his hand. "They told me that you may be here," he said
calmly. "I'm Dar, Dar Ulthan," he introduced. "I'm your
roommate."

"I'm Tarrin," he replied calmly.

"They asked me to show you around," he said.
"We can do that after lunch, if you want."

Tarrin put the staff back in the corner and followed
the tall, lanky young man out.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Aldreth."

"Where?"

"A village about as far from Suld as you can get
without leaving Sulasia," he replied.

"I'm from Arkhold, in Arkis," he returned.

"What brought you all the way here?"

"My parents are in the spice trade," he
explained. "Merchants who are educated in the Tower tend to do better,
and my parents want me to keep up what they've built."

"Educated? I thought that the school they have
here would have been in some other building."

"The Initiates stay in other towers," he
said, "but we Novices are here."

"Why do they all wear different colors?" he
asked curiously.

"The Initiates? It's their rank," he
replied. "Except the ones that wear brown. Initiates who wear brown
aren't Sorcerers, they're just the advanced people in the school. They're here
in the Tower too, in the levels above the library."

"Which way will you go?"

"I don't know yet," he said. "All I've
learned so far is history and geography, and they've taught me about fifty
different ways to add two and two together," he said ruefully. "But
they haven't given me the Test yet." He led Tarrin down another
passageway. "I'm not entirely sure which way I want to go. Seeing the
Sorcerers here, it's made me interested in what they do. But if I do end up
learning Sorcery, it's bound to make my parents very mad. They're paying alot
of money to send me here. But, on the other hand, if I do have talent, they
don't have to pay anymore," he said with a smile.

"I'm not Wikuni, and I wasn't like this when they
tested me," he told him.

"I wasn't sure," he admitted with a short
laugh. "I know alot of Wikuni from when my parents bargain with them, and
you don't look like any Wikuni I've ever seen. But you look almost like one.
I thought maybe you were a deformed Wikuni."

"No," he assured him. "I'm a
Were-cat."

"Truly?" he said in wonder. "Then none
of the stories I've heard of the Were-people are true, are they?"

"Probably not," he said. "Well, the
part about biting is true," he added somberly.

"That's how it happened?"

He nodded. "It was just one of those dumb
things," he said. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong
time." That much was true, to a certain degree. If he'd chosen another
bedchamber, it would have been Walten, or Tiella. Or maybe even Faalken or
Dolanna. Or maybe nobody.

"You took it better than I would have," he
said. "I'd still be screaming."

"I'm over that now," he said. "It's
actually not that bad, once you get used to it."

"I'd rather not find out," he said.

"Smart man," Tarrin agreed. "The
getting used to it is not pleasant."

"I didn't think it would be." They went
through a door, and entered a huge room, much like a grand hall. There were
tables and benches aligned in orderly rows in the center, with a single table
on a raised dais on the far end of the room. There were already a great many
people in the room, and almost all of them were sitting quietly at the tables,
where a myriad of different foods sat and waited. The smells of them made his
stomach growl. Sitting at the table on the dais were several men and women
wearing assorted dresses, shirts, doublets, and robes, but Elsa was seated
firmly in the center of the table facing the assembled Novices. Dar led them
to the closest empty seats, and he had them sit down fast. "Anyone
standing once the Mistress starts the meal prayer is sent away hungry," he
explained in a very low whisper.

Tarrin nodded calmly, taking in the nervous reactions
of the other Novices seated near and around Tarrin. They all couldn't help
stare at him, but they tried to make it inconspicuous. He decided that
ignoring them would be the best thing to do. Not an arm's reach away, a large
platter of roasted ham sat, almost taunting him. It was a tremendous act of
will not to reach out and take it.

"Everyone stand!" Elsa's booming voice called
across the hall. All the Novices stood respectfully and bowed their heads.
Tarrin endured a short little speech from Elsa, where she invoked the blessing
of some Goddess on the meal, but Tarrin didn't listen to her. He was more
interested in hearing her voice stop than he was listening to her speak. When
the Novices began to take their seats, he realized that Elsa had stopped
talking. He sat down with Dar, and when he saw several people reach for
platters of beef, or pork, or a bowl of potatos, he knew that it was time to
eat.

He graciously let everyone else take what they wanted
off the platter he was eyeing, then he reached out and took the entire
platter. "Anyone else want any of this?" he asked pointedly, holding
it out. When nobody answered, he pushed his own plate away and set the platter
in its place. He looked at the small-handled fork by the plate with a bit of
annoyance, and instead used the large serving fork that was on the platter. It
had a handle large enough for him to use. The knife too was too small, but the
claw on the index finger of his free hand was more than capable of being a
substitute for a knife. The razor-sharp tip of his claw neatly sliced up the
meat to his liking, then he used the serving fork to get it to his mouth.
Someone poured fresh, chilled milk into a pewter mug that was beside him, and
then that person moved down to do the same with Dar's mug. He was more
interested in the food, however, and he managed to finish off the entire
platter of roasted ham, which had enough ham on it to feed five. Dar gave him
a rather wild look as he pushed the platter away and took a drink of milk.
"Do you always eat that much?" he asked.

"Not always, but I'd been moving without eating
much before I got here," he replied. "I'm just catching up on missed
meals."

"I can understand that," he said, going back
to his own meal.

Tarrin could almost feel the energy of the meal surge
into him as he sat there drinking his milk and waiting for Dar to finish. Now
that his body had more raw material to work with, he was very certain that he'd
not look even half so thin by dinnertime. He was looking forward to the
studies with Sevren; he was curious just what his body was capable of doing.
This ability to restore lost body tissue was most interesting. But then again,
he felt that he should have known it would do that. Something in the back of
his mind, he thought it was the Cat, told him that he could grow back missing
limbs, except for his head, and even regrow lost teeth and claws. It was part
of the regenerative capabilities inherent with his kind.

And, he realized, it was the reason they didn't age.
The regeneration healed them of the effects of time, repairing any
damage brought on by the marching of the seasons. That was only logical, he
realized calmly as he sat there. The effects of time were not natural; well,
they were natural, but they were not the natural state of his body, and that
was how his regenerative ability maintained him. An older him did not fit into
his body's imprint of itself, and so it was corrected by regenerative healing.

Tarrin was only seventeen. He hadn't lived long enough
to be able to appreciate the profound concept of living until someone killed
him, maybe for thousands of years, but he was wise enough to know that he
wasn't old enough. It was something that he would have to think about in the
time to come, something to ponder.

After the meal, Dar took Tarrin around the Tower. They
went to the Library, the scribing chamber, out on the grounds, to the huge
garden behind the Tower, then they walked along the highly polished black tiles
of what was known as the Heart of the Goddess, a massive open space in the
exact center of the Tower that ran from the base right up to the top. While
they walked, they talked. Dar was an earnest young man with high goals and
ideals, but they didn't include what his family wanted from him. He was an
accomplished artist, and he wanted to pursue that, while his family thought it
was frivilous. He also wanted to learn. He was wildly curious about the
world, and he almost didn't want to leave the Tower, to leave the vast Library,
which was one of the largest and most complete in the world. They strolled
along the black tiles around the edge, near the wall, as Dar confided certain
things to Tarrin that he knew the young man had not told other people. Dar and
Tarrin seemed to just connect, and he realized that he already considered the young
Arkisian a close friend. The Cat in him liked Dar just as much as the human
did. In the base of the floor, in a huge design, was the shaeram, the
geometric star-in a star-in a circle design that was the symbol of the order.
It was done much differently than the medallions he'd seen, and that pointed
some things out to him. The medallions were a four-pointed star with concave
sides inside a six-pointed star. This symbol resembled that six pointed star,
but instead of a star it was six individual triangles laid out corner to
corner, third point out, all contained within the circle. Each triangle was a
different color. They were red, blue, a shade of purple like violets, orange,
yellow, and a lighter shade of purple that was obviously a different color.
The circle encircling them was green, and the concave four-pointed star within
was white. The design had to be about fifty paces across, taking up about
three quarters of the floor.

Tarrin felt...strange. There was something in
this vast chamber, but he couldn't quite put his claw on it. It hovered right
on the edge of his consciousness, almost like something that rested just at the
edge of his vision, a sound that was so faint that he couldn't tell if it was
real, the phantom of a scent in his nose. "Do you feel that?" he
asked Dar quietly, almost reverently.

"Sometimes I do," he replied. "There's
something in this place, but the Sorcerers won't tell me what it is. I think
it has something to do with magic. Not many people come in here, so I like to
come in here alot and think."

Tarrin advanced into the huge open area, still trying
to understand the extremely vague sensation he was feeling. His pads made no
noise on the black tiles as they crossed the boundary and set foot on the green
of the surrounding circle of the symbol. Tarrin felt that unusual sensation
more strongly as he advanced into the middle of the huge room. He looked up
into the soaring void that rose up over them, an enclosed area that went up so
high that he could just barely make out the ceiling so far above. Tarrin put a
paw out in front of him, because he could almost see a something
coalescing in front of him. As he moved closer, it seemed to be more distinct.

When his paw crossed the invisible barrier above where
the green circle ended and the red triangle began, something strange happened.
A faint, ghostly radiance appeared around Tarrin's thick fingers, and it
swirled and eddied like water between and over them. At the touch of that
visible light, Tarrin's fingers tingled angrily, pins and needles that were
almost painful, yet seemed to go through his fingers as well as around.

"Amazing!" Dar murmured, standing beside
him. "It never did that to me."

Tarrin put his entire paw in, feeling the tingles,
watching the light ghost up and around his paw. It was almost like water;
whatever it was was definitely flowing, from the floor up towards the ceiling
so high above. "Put your hand in," Tarrin told him in a wondrous
voice. "Don't just put it in, feel what's there."

He did so, closing his eyes. After a moment, while
Tarrin put his other paw in and played with the swirling, smoky radiance, Dar's
eyes snapped open. "I feel...tingles," he said. He put his other
hand out, and then tendrils of ghostly smoke-light started wisping out from
under Dar's hands. "Incredible!" he whispered as it became
stronger. "I can feel it!"

Tarrin raised a foot, to take a step inside.

"I wouldn't do that," a voice called from
behind.

They both whirled around. The woman standing before
them was very, very tall, and she was almostly achingly beautiful. Her skin
was bronze colored, but her hair was a brilliant, fiery red. A most unusual
combination. She wore a daring, low-cut red silk dress, and had a figure that
most women would kill for. Dar instantly bowed to the woman, and Tarrin
clumsily did the same. Her hard green eyes swept over them quickly, then she
walked up to them. She stepped between them and put her hand out, over the
barrier, and Tarrin watched it as it reached into the same area where he had
been. "You have no idea what you're doing," she said in a hard
voice, "and that can kill you if you're not careful."

Her hand suddenly erupted into a white fire, which
spread over her palm, and licked up from under her cupped hand. She removed
her hand from the place, and the white fire was still in her palm, dancing and
weaving in the air. Tarrin could feel the heat from it; it was real
fire. It was pure white, but it was real. "This place, I don't think
it's safe for either of you. You'd best not come here again."

Swallowing, Tarrin looked at the fire. Why hadn't it
done that for him? Like she said, it was something he had no knowledge of, but
he just had to know. "What is it, Mistress?" he asked.

"It is Sorcery," she said simply. "It's
something you haven't learned yet. But from what I just saw, it's something
that both of you will learn," she added with an appraising look at
Dar.

Dar positively beamed.

"Just don't get creative," she said.
"Before you even try to use Sorcery, there are many things you have
to learn. It's way too easy to kill yourself if you don't know exactly what
you're doing."

"I know," Tarrin said absently thinking back
to Jenna and her explosive experience with the power of Sorcery.

"Now get on with both of you," she said
shooing them away with a hand as the fire winked out from the other. "I
suggest you not come back here until you've learned more about the power of
Sorcery."

They left her with hurried bows, almost running from
the vast chamber. Only when they were clear of her did they start whispering
fervently. "You will be a Sorcerer!" Tarrin whispered to him,
as Dar said "that was absolutely incredible!"

Dar looked over his shoulder. "That was
Ahiriya," he told Tarrin in a hushed tone. "She sits on the Council
of Seven."

"Ahiriya?" Tarrin asked. That was also the
name of a Goddess, the Elder Goddess of Fire.

"I know, she almost looks the part, doesn't
she?" Dar said with a grin. "She sits in the Fire seat on the
council and everything. She has just as much of a temper too. She's the last
person in the Tower you want to have mad at you."

"The Fire seat?"

"The council, it has six members," he
explained. "Each one is the seat of one of the six spheres of Sorcery.
Air, earth, fire, water, the mind, and the power of the Goddess. The Keeper is
the seventh. They rule the Tower."

"I remember that much," he said. "I
just didn't know they called themselves that, that's all."

"You'll learn most of that in the first week or so
of the Novitiate. That's about all they talk about. Rules, rules, rules, and
just how deep you bow to which person. I think it's a bit silly, myself,"
he grunted. "Back home, you bow to the king, but that's about all. We're
kinda informal about that kind of thing."

"You sound like a noble," Tarrin said.

"Well, my father is a Margrave," he
admitted. "That's a rank something like a Baron here in the west, but
there are no lands that go with the title. It's like a landless noble."

"A landless noble?" Tarrin asked.

Dar nodded. "He earned it about fifteen years
ago. The king needed something done badly, and my father managed to do it for
him. He gave my father the title in thanks."

"Hmm," Tarrin sounded.

"We don't take it seriously, anyway," he said.
"My family earns money through the spice trade, so we don't really need
land."

"My father said that Novices work when not in
class," he said.

"We do," he said with a wince. "I got very
lucky. They wanted you to know your way around, so I have the afternoon off to
show you the Tower."

"What do you usually do?"

"Scrub floors, scrub walls, scrub pots and pans,
scrub scrub scrub," he said with a face. "I swear, when I get out of
here, I'll never so much as look at another scrub brush as long as I live."

Tarrin laughed. "You should work on a farm,"
he said. "You do the same things every day, over and over. As soon as
you finish it, it has to be done again. It's very monotonous."

"Sounds like torture," he said.

"You get used to it," Tarrin said. "I
didn't mind most of the chores. It was something to do." He looked down
at his paw idly. "Besides, we had a small farm, and there were four of
us, so there wasn't a huge amount of work. We had alot of free time."

"What did you do with it?"

"Hunted, roamed around in the forest, that kind of
thing," he said. "My father was a Ranger, so he taught me all about
the woods. My mother's Ungardt, so I learned all about fighting from her.
That's more or less what I did with my free time."

"I sat and learned numbers, then learned how to
cheat spice dealers," Dar said with a grin.

"Must have been boring."

"You have absolutely no idea." He looked
around. "Let's go back outside. It's a nice day, and if any Sorcerer
decides they need something, they can make us do it. We're the mules in the
Tower, and idle mules irritate many of the Sorcerers for some reason."

Tarrin laughed. "Outside sounds like a good
idea."

The sky was clear, with the Skybands cutting across the
blue in their dull white colors. They went to the massive garden behind the
Tower proper, where numerous Novices toiled in the meticulously arranged
gardens with gardeners and Initiates supervising them. The garden was in its
early summer bloom, and it was a sea of colorful flowers divided by red brick
walkways. There were several fountains among the large sections of roses and
tulips and numerous other flowers, and they stopped at each one and gazed on
the beautiful sculpture that often spouted streams of water. There was also a
huge hedge maze behind the flower gardens, and the two of them wandered the
pathways of that huge maze for almost the entire afternoon, going well past the
point where the pathways were neatly tended.

"Things are getting ragged," Dar noticed.

"I don't think they come in this far," Tarrin
replied.

Dar laughed. "Maybe we'll come across the
skeleton of the last person who did," he joked.

"It's certainly large enough to get lost in,"
he said.

"Do we even know where we are?" Dar asked a
bit uncertainly.

"I know where I've been," he assured him.
"I can smell our trail, so we can just follow that to get out."

After a while, though, Tarrin was getting aggravated.
They'd followed every single possible path, and yet they still hadn't found the
center. "There has to be a way in," he growled.

"As rough as these hedges are," Dar said,
pushing away a branch that quite nearly grew across the entire path, "The
way to it may have grown over."

After about half an hour, they found it. It was indeed
overgrown, and so badly that it literally looked like a wall. They pushed
through it, walked down a short path that was similarly choked, and then they
found themselves standing in the center.

The hours were worth the effort. There was a fountain
in the middle of the large grassy clearing, a fountain that was bright and
clean despite the obvious years of neglect. There was a statue in the center
of the pristine marble fountain, a statue of a woman of indescribable beauty.
The stone was unweathered, and it seemed to literally capture the sparkle in
the eye of the long-haired, nude figure. The sculpture was so incredibly
detailed that Tarrin could see the individual strands of hair flowing down the
back of the statue's shoulders. It stood on a pedestal in the center of the
fountain, where small spouts of water filled the small center area with the
sound of happily splashing, bubbling water. The figure was in a delicate
feminine pose, and its arms were outstretched, as if welcoming them into the
clearing. The clearing itself was neat and clean, despite the obvious fact
that nobody came into it anymore, with several rose bushes growing to each side
of a single solitary bench that sat in front of the fountain. There was a red
brick path around the fountain, widened around the bench, running under their
feet towards it.

"It's beautiful," Dar whispered.

Tarrin couldn't answer. He approached the rim of the
fountain and boldly stepped up onto the lip, then waded through the ankle-deep
water. He went right up to the life-sized statue and stared at its intricately
detailed face, a beautiful face with elegant cheekbones and almond shaped eyes
under very delicate brows. Tarrin reached out and put his paw on the cheek of
the statue, just to make sure that it was really stone. Never had he seen such
unbelievably detailed sculpture. For an irrational moment, the statue's
exquisite figure reminded him of Jesmind, and he wondered if she somehow had something
to do with it.

"What are you doing?" Dar asked.

"It's really stone," he told him. "You
can see the hairs in her eyebrows."

"It's almost embarassing," Dar said.

"What?"

"That's not all the hair the sculpter made,"
he said delicately.

Tarrin looked down. "You can see each hair in
that too," he said.

Dar blushed.

"What?" he asked. "It's just stone,
Dar. I don't think it cares if you look." Tarrin stopped himself. Where
did that come from? That sounded just like Jesmind. Had those short days
changed him so much?

"Well, it's still improper."

"Don't be such a prude, Dar," he said.
"With all the art I saw in the room, I would think that you could
appreciate the art of this, even if she is nude."

"Yes, well, I can appreciate the art," he said,
"but it's almost too life-like. If you touched that statue in the
wrong place, I think it might slap you."

Tarrin rather bluntly placed the palm of his paw
against the area of contention. Dar choked a bit, and then he laughed.
"No slap," Tarrin said.

"You're fearless," Dar told him.

"No, I'm just not afraid of a piece of
marble," he replied.

"Well, you couldn't have touched it in a more
sensitive place," Dar said.

"Yes I could have, but the statue was carved with
her legs too close together," he said.

"Tarrin!" Dar hissed. "That's
nasty!"

"And you've never thought of doing it
yourself?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat and
turning a bright shade of red. "I never thought to do it to a piece of
stone."

"Now you're thinking the right way," Tarrin
said, leaving the statue and wading back across the fountain.

"You don't think the same way we do," Dar
deduced shrewdly.

"No, I don't," he said calmly. "What I
consider modest and improper isn't the same as what you do, Dar. It has to do
with what I am." Again, he marvelled at how much like Jesmind he
sounded. "This is a very nice place," he said. "That's the
most beautiful fountain I've ever seen, and the whole thing is pretty. I could
live in here."

"I wonder who keeps it like this, since the
opening is so overgrown that it's hidden," Dar wondered aloud.

"Somebody has to," Tarrin agreed.
"This place would be a jungle if it wasn't tended. But there are no human
smells in here. Not even a trace of one," he told him. "Nobody has
been in here in weeks, maybe months. And that's too long for it to look like
this."

"Maybe the place is magic," Dar said.

Tarrin considered that, and then he thought about the
way he felt in the huge chamber Dar called the Heart of the Goddess. But that
same feeling wasn't here. But there was a different feeling here...a feeling
of peace. That was the only way to describe it. Standing there,
staring at that beautiful statue, Tarrin coudln't deny that there was something
very special about this place, something that made him feel very much at peace.

"I don't know about magic, but this place is very
special," he said in a quiet voice. "Maybe it's a good thing that
nobody really comes here."

"Yeah," he agreed. "They'd just mess it
up."

They sat down on the bench and stared at the exquisite
statue for a long time. They didn't speak. Talking was unnecessary. They
both simply contemplated the statue, her arms held out in a gesture of welcome,
the look of gentle caring on her face.

"We should go. They may be looking for us, and
they won't find us here."

"Yes. We should remember that. This might be a
nice place to get away from it all."

Tarrin glanced around at the clearing. "Yes, it
would be," he said. Looking up, he could see that the hedges didn't
conceal the center from the vast height of the main Tower. But from that
height, one would need a spyglass to see who was down here.

They went back to the Novice quarters, and Tarrin
considered the fountain. It was a beautiful place, and it was indeed very well
hidden. It was the perfect place to go when he didn't want to be bothered.

"Let's see if we're not too late for dinner,"
Dar said.

"You go ahead," he said. "I need to do
something."

"Alright. See you in the room. I'll try to sneak
something back for you."

"Thanks," he said.

He immediately went to the Library. He wasn't too late
to keep his appointment with Dolanna. The library was a vast place, a chamber
that took up almost every span of available room on one side of the Tower. It
went from the inner wall to the outer wall, took up two levels, and probably
took up enough room to house about three hundred people. The floor was lined
with bookshelves, and each one was piled heavily with books. There was a set
of steps on each side of a large statue of some robed man with long hair and no
beard, leading to a half-upper level with even more bookshelves. In the exact
center of the lower floor, up against the wall that separated the central core
of the tower, was a circular desk behind which sat the Master Librarian and two
or three of his scholar attendants, who were responsible for keeping the
Tower's vast wealth of books in a neat and orderly fashion. Tarrin hesitated
to let one of those librarians pass, pushing a wooden cart stacked with books
that were to be replaced on the shelves.

Ignoring the several curious looks, Tarrin squatted
down and put his nose close to the floor. There were a multitude of scents all
jumbled together on the floor, but he knew precisely which one he was looking
for. He had to check two other likely places it would be until he found Dolanna's
scent, sharp and strong and fresh. After that, he simpy followed it. It went
up the stairs and into a dark corner of the huge library. She was sitting at a
solitary table behind a large, dusty bookshelf, where a single one of those
glowing globes hovered over the table to provide light.

He sat down across from her at the small table
quietly. She looked up from the book she was reading, then carefully looked in
either direction for eavesdroppers. "Thank you for coming, Tarrin,"
she said.

"What did you want to see me about, Dolanna?"
he asked.

"Nothing earth-shaking, my dear one," she
said with a smile. "I simply wanted to talk to you about your journey to
the Tower. I felt that there some things that you did not wish to talk about
in front of Sevren."

"Because, my dear one, that is a very
effective way for a woman to control a man," she said.

"That's not why it happened," he said.

"Then what did occur?"

Tarrin explained to her the social peculiarities of the
Were-cats, as it was described to him by Jesmind. Dolanna simply nodded.
"Yes, that is logical," she said. "I should have expected as much.
I keep falling into the trap of thinking of you and the other Were-cats as
thinking in a human manner."

"I'm starting to think almost the same way Jesmind
does," he told her. "I used to be nervous about undressing in
public. Right now, Dolanna, I could strip and walk across the library without
batting an eyelash. It just doesn't seem the same as it once did." He
shuddered slightly. "I find it very easy to kill," he added.

"What else?"

"Just little things, Dolanna, mostly along those
lines," he said. "I think the time with Jesmind opened my eyes to
that other side of me, and now they're starting to communicate. Jesmind told
me that I was ignoring it. Well, I'm not doing that anymore. And it's doing
it without me knowing about it. When I was in the baths, I realized that my
ideas about being nude changed. It wasn't until then."

"It is your instincts," she told him.
"They are starting to merge with your conscious mind. Tarrin, it is what
is supposed to happen, and it is a very good sign. You do not seem to be
having any problems integrating them together, which is also very good."

"It's just scary," he told her. "I'm
starting to wonder at what I'm going to do next. It's like I'm starting to
lose control."

"No, dear one," she assured him. "The
fact that you can recognize these changes in attitude tells me that you are
still very much in control of yourself."

"It's still weird," he said. "At first,
when I met Jesmind, I was amazed at how different she was. She was
blunt and almost totally fearless, and she thought about some things in ways I
never thought any woman would ever think about them. And now I find myself
acting more and more like her with every passing moment. I know I'm not
becoming her, because she's female and I'm not, but I'm starting to think
almost the same way. I'm getting just as blunt, and I find myself capable of
doing things that would have made me almost faint just last month."

"You are starting to think like a Were-cat,"
she told him gently.

"I didn't realize that it would be so
different," he admitted.

"But you do realize it, Tarrin, and that is your
best weapon in learning how to deal with it," she told him.

"I hope so," he sighed.

"Just believe in yourself, dear one," she
told him.

He nodded. "Did you tell them about
Jesmind?"

"Yes," she replied. "The Keeper has
started putting eyes out to watch for her. So far as I know, she has yet to
arrive. Nobody has seen her."

"They're not going to," he grunted. "If
she doesn't want to be seen, she won't."

"We must have faith," she said.

"What about the Goblinoids?"

"Now that we have passed on to the King," she
told him. "I have not heard what will be done about it, but at least the
King now knows what is happening. I am certain he will mobilize units in the
army to deter them from getting any ideas."

"Good," he said. "Dolanna, that place
in the center of the Tower, what is it?" he asked.

She gave him a curious look. "It is called the
Heart of the Goddess," she told him.

"I know. Me and my roommate were in there.
There's something in there, something magic. But before we could find out,
someone came in and threw us out."

"That was a good thing," she told him with a
look of concern on her face. "Tarrin, you have awesome potential, and you
will have tremendous power when you learn to use it. That place, it is very
central to our power as Sorcerers. It is something that you will not understand
until you learn about the Weave. But for now, consider it to be a place with a
great deal of magical energy. With your inherent aptitude, I am surprised that
nothing bad happened."

"I think it almost did," he said with a
shudder. "Me and Dar were playing with the area inside the symbol,
because it was creating light when we put our hands in it. The woman came in
and stopped us before we did anything else."

"Then your roommate has the talent," she told
him calmly. "He will be a Sorcerer."

"Yes, the woman told him that," he replied.
"He's very happy about it."

"Have you, done anything with Sorcery?" she
asked.

"No," he told her. "After what happened
with Jenna, I don't even want to try until I know what I'm doing. I've seen
what can happen if I mess it up."

"That is a very good attitude," she
told him fiercely. "Sorcery is not bad, Tarrin, but you must
understand what you are doing when you do it, or there is a tremendous
potential for disaster. Training people as powerful as you is very, very
dangerous because of that. I have asked for the honor of doing that myself. I
feel that I am best qualified to do it, since I know you so well, and you are
so comfortable with me."

"I wouldn't mind it."

"But they may not allow it," she told him.
"I am very strong, Tarrin, but there are others much stronger than I.
They may decide to pair you with a Sorcerer with enough raw power to stop you
from hurting yourself. And there are only a handful with that much raw talent
in the Tower."

"Tarrin, that is rebellion you are talking
about," she said. "That is not tolerated in a Novice."

"I'm not a normal Novice," he told her.

"You will get in a great deal of trouble,"
she warned.

"And? Dolanna, I'm already in trouble. Do you
think that a little bit more is going to make a difference? Between Jesmind
and the Goblinoids and the person that was trying to kill me, I'm really not
going to worry about someone getting into a twist because I want a specific
teacher."

She gave him a strange look, and then laughed
delightedly. "Tarrin, my dear one, you are going to drive this Tower to
distraction," she told him fondly. She looked down the passage between
the bookcases. "It is getting late, dear one. We should be
leaving."

"It is getting there," he agreed. "I
don't have anything to do tomorrow either...maybe I'll spend the day reading.
And maybe see you in here. Around sunset maybe."

"Perhaps," she said with a smile.

Tarrin left her sitting at the table. It had been a
productive meeting. Dolanna had calmed some fears that had broiled up in the
past day, and he had learned a thing or two besides. And he got to talk with
Dolanna. Tarrin had a very special rapport with the Sorceress, and they both
knew it. It had been she that had kept a terrified Tarrin from going into
histrionics after he'd been bitten. It was her gentle guidance that had literally
kept him from going mad. And they had a very close personal friendship as
well. She was in many ways one of the crutches on which he leaned, and he
would have no one else teach him about Sorcery. Unlike many others in the
Tower, he already knew Dolanna, already knew what to expect from her. Despite
them being Sorcerers, and despite the warm welcome he had received from many in
the Tower, Tarrin was still a bit reluctant about getting close to strangers.
He wouldn't be as forthcoming with a stranger as he would with Dolanna, and
that made her the best teacher for him.

Tarrin was used to being what he was. Now he had to
get used to how that would affect relationships with others.

Tarrin was up before dawn, and so was Dar. Someone
walked up the hallway just as Tarrin awoke, ringing a bell. That was obviously
the signal for all Novices to get up and start preparing for the day. Tarrin
had had a very good sleep, and much to his surprise, so had Dar. Dar had not
shown the slightest reservation about sharing his room with such an exotic,
unknown creature as Tarrin, and that surprised the young Were-cat
considerably. Dar was perfectly at ease with Tarrin, and that simple fact had
endeared the Arkisian to him even more than the previous day. Being able to
sleep soundly in the same room as someone was a definite measure of trust.

Tarrin wondered if it hadn't been for that specific
reason that Dar was chosen to be his roommate. Because he was so
tolerant.

Dar groaned, sat up, and yawned deeply. "Dawn
gets here earlier every day," he grumbled in complaint as he rubbed his
eyes.

"Of course it does," Tarrin told him.
"It's coming into summer. Each night is a bit shorter than the last. If
you'd go to bed at a decent hour, then you wouldn't be so sleepy."

"You're the one who kept me up," he
shot back. "Do you always like to play cards?"

"It helps me think," he shrugged.

"Next time, read a book," he complained,
sliding out of bed.

"I may. You're a lousy hand in King's
Sword."

"Give me a break, I just learned it last
night," he said indignantly.

"Do you play stones?"

"Religiously," he replied.

"I'll get a stones board."

"Not in this room you won't. Neither of us will
sleep if you do."

"You may be right there," he admitted.
"I don't like stopping in the middle of a game."

"I don't either." Dar was wearing his small
clothes, and he pulled his robe off the peg and belted it on.

"What's the routine in the morning?" Tarrin
asked.

"We all have to bathe first," he said.
"After that, we eat. Then we either go to class or to our work."

"All the Novices at once?"

"No, they do it a floor at a time. We have to go
bathe first."

"What do the others do while they wait?"

"They wait," he said. "They have to get
up at the same time we do. But we have to wait on them to finish before we can
go to eat, so it evens out."

"Well, what happens in you want to take a long
bath?" he asked.

Dar laughed. "Tarrin, you don't see many Novices
take long baths," he said. "At least everyone but Torians."

"Why is that?"

"Because they have to appear naked in front of the
others," he said. "The Torians have communal baths, so it doesn't
bother them. Most Novices jump in, jump out, and then wrap a towel around
themselves as fast as they can."

"Humans," Tarrin sighed. "You're so
quirky. After you see someone naked once, does it matter how many more times
you see it?"

"I don't like doing it either," Dar told
him. "I think having to take a bath with the girls is the worst part of
the day."

"I'll go with you," he said. "I feel
like taking another bath. That bathing pool is just too handy."

"It'd be real nice if I didn't have to take my
clothes off in front of girls," Dar grumbled.

Tarrin laughed, which made Dar blush. Which made him
laugh even more. Now he understood why Jesmind was so amused at his own
discomfort. And now that he seemed to be closer to Jesmind's way of thinking,
it was just as amusing to him as it was to her. It was such a silly custom,
almost ridiculous, for humans to be so ashamed of themselves.

Dar and Tarrin left their room and fell into step with
the other Novices that lived on their floor. They all seemed as sulky as Dar.
Tarrin also noted that many of them stared at him in wide-eyed amazement, and
not a few of them wouldn't get that close to him. That made him sigh a bit.
It wasn't like he was some unholy monster there to drink the living blood from
their veins. He was a person, after all. He even had a name. He understood
that to them, he was a very strange creature, but it was silly to be afraid of
him. He was a Novice, just like them. It wasn't like he'd gotten himself into
the Tower so he could eat the unwary young Novices.

He ignored them as best he could. He was more
interested in a hot bath than anything else. That he attended to with a brisk
businesslike manner of which Dar seemed to approve. They disrobed and jumped
right into the water, and he waded out into the hot water quickly, before
others could get over there and intrude on his space. He had plans for the
day, several of them. The first was to take his staff outside and start
working out the differences that there would be. He had larger hands now. He
was stronger, faster, and he had natural weaponry. He needed to work with them
more than the chaotic, half-instinctual way he'd been using them. He needed to
know exactly what he could do, so he would know exactly what he was capable of
doing. In a fight, that was dreadfully important. His life would hinge on
it. Then he would go to the library and start reading about Sorcery. He'd
discovered from talking with Dar last night that they didn't start really
teaching Sorcery until the Initiate. Well, he wanted to know now. And he was
pretty sure that he could talk Dolanna into giving him lessons, whether or not
they were sanctioned by the Tower. Before he started doing that, he wanted to
read about it. Besides, he was rather sure that they'd watch him very closely
for a while. He'd just arrived, and they had no idea what he was about.
They'd watch him carefully until they were certain that he wasn't going to do
anything unusual. At least for him. After that, if he had time, he wanted to
explore the rest of the grounds more thoroughly. That, he knew, was a purely
Cat instinct, to know his territory, but he was more than willing to go along
with the idea. He was curious to see what all there was out on the grounds,
which were about three times the size of Aldreth. And after that, he would
meet with Dolanna in the library at sunset.

He'd been right about his body repairing itself,
though. He wasn't half as thin as he'd been this time the day before. His
ribs were again sheathed in a layer of muscle, and the little aches and pains
had faded quite some time ago. It had only taken a single day with a huge
amount of food for his body to restore what had been consumed during his period
of near-starvation. He looked healthy, and he felt healthy. He was strong
again, strong enough to take his staff out in the field and work with it.

"Man, this is hot," Dar complained as he
lathered his hair.

"I like it like this," Tarrin said.

"It's tolerable, but only just," he said.

"For you."

"Hey, I'm the only one that matters," he said
with a grin.

"You might think so," Tarrin shot back.

"You mean the world doesn't revolve around me?
I'm crushed."

"You look it."

Dar answered that by splashing water at him. Tarrin
retaliated by snaking his long tail around the boy's ankle, and then yanking.
Tarrin's tail was by no means as stong as the rest of his body, but it was
strong enough. Dar disappeared under the water with shocking speed, and then
came up spluttering. "Cheater," he accused after spitting out a
mouthful of water.

"Oh, did my tail catch on your leg? I'm so
sorry," Tarrin said with false sincerity. "Let me help you up."

"About half again as long as my leg," Tarrin
told him calmly. "Long enough to be useful."

"I noticed," Dar said after he stuck his
tongue out at the Were-cat.

"It doesn't look it because it moves all the time,
and it's always bent," Tarrin said, washing the soap out of the fur on his
arms.

Dar laughed. "Your tail reaches farther than your
arms."

"I guess it does."

"And you can grab things with it?"

"Yes. It's not as delicate as my fingers, but
it's got enough agility to grab things."

"That's the first time I ever heard of the butt
grabbing the hand."

Tarrin gave him a face, then laughed. "Wait til
it smacks you. Then you can say that it's the first time a butt ever smacked
back."

Dar laughed with him as they climbed out of the bathing
pool. But it also made Tarrin consider the possibilities. From a combat
situation, his tail was a tactical advantage. It gave him a third arm, as it
were, one that didn't have an elbow and was as supple as a snake. He made a
mental note to ponder that. He was rather sure he'd thought of that once
before, but he hadn't pursued it last time. Most likely it had been during his
flight from Jesmind, and at that time he was too busy trying to survive.

They went back to their room and dressed, then they
stood at the hallway leading to the Hall, waiting for the Mistress of Novices
to appear and lead them in. Dar explained that the food was already laid out
on the tables, but those unlucky Novices that had pulled kitchen duty, and only
awaited them to come in and sit down. They had the same thing for breakfast
every day. Cooked eggs, slices of bacon, ham, porridge, bread, milk, and fresh
fruit, when it was in season.

Elsa appeared a short while later, and she stopped in
front of Tarrin. "You look a whole world better, boy," she noted.

"I feel just fine, Mistress," he assured her.

"Good. You're entering the Noviate tomorrow. Oh,
and don't forget to pick up your clothes from the Quartermaster after
breakfast. He's waiting on you."

"I'll take care of it, Mistress Elsa," he
promised.

"I saw that staff in your room, boy. You're not
supposed to have that. Unless, of course, it's of sentimental value."

"I've owned it for five years, Mistress. I made
it myself. It's got a great deal of sentimental value."

"Good," she said. "That's all I wanted
to hear. And if anyone asks, you'll tell them that. Understood?"

"Understood, Mistress," he told her. Then
she led them into the Hall.

"What was that all about?" he asked in a
hushed voice. Elsa was only a bit ahead of them.

"We're not allowed to have weapons, except for a
personal knife. I didn't think it was a weapon," he shrugged.

"It's very much one, if you know how to use it
that way," he told him in an equally hushed voice. "I could teach
you, if you want."

"I may take you up on that. It's always handy how
to know how to fight with something so ordinary."

"That's the idea," he said. "My mother
could whip your tail with nothing but her hands and feet. My father could do
it with a leather belt."

"A belt?"

Tarrin nodded. "I've never seen one used quite
that way, and I doubt I ever will. He could even block a sword blow with it.
He said he learned it because even if you lose everything else, you'll always
have your belt."

Dar chuckled. "That's a very smart idea."
They entered the Hall and took the closest available seats, but they didn't
touch any food. That came after the blessing. "Your mother knows the Ungaardt Ways?" he asked in a whisper.

Tarrin nodded. "She taught them to me, but I'm
still not as good as she is."

"I heard that they don't often teach them to
women," he said.

"You heard wrong," Tarrin told him.
"Even a village grandmother has some training in the Ways. It's a
custom."

Many more Novices poured in, many of them still damp
from the baths. After the hall was more or less full, Elsa stood up and
delivered the blessing in a booming voice. When she was done, the Novices
started in on breakfast. Now that he was mended, he didnt' have a quarter of
the appetite he'd had the day before, so his breakfast plate was much more
reasonable. He did like scrambled eggs, so he put more on his plate than was
good for him, then added some bacon and fried ham to it. He didn't touch the
porridge, but did have an apple after cleaning his plate.

As he'd discovered the day before, he wasn't required
to sit and wait for everyone else to finish. Once a Novice was done with the
meal, they were permitted to leave and get about their affairs. Tarrin bid
good day to Dar and left the Hall, going straight to the Quartermaster's. The
wiry man greeted him warmly when he entered. "Ah, I see you got my
clothes," he said.

"Thank you, sir. They were very handy. I don't
like wearing robes."

"With that tail, I can understand why. I have
your clothes ready for you. Come with me and we'll get them."

The wiry man led him to a shelf some ways back into the
huge room. "Those are the same size as the ones you have on now," he
said. "Hmm, maybe I should have made them looser. They're already snug
on you."

"No, sir, this size is perfect," he assured
him. "I'm as thick as I'm going to get."

"But you were thin as a stick yesterday."

"I got better," he said with a mischievous
grin.

"I don't think I want to know, so spare me the
details," he said dryly. "With all the magical things that go on
around here, I should know better than to ask anymore."

"Oh, what do you want me to do with the old
robe?" he asked.

"Keep it," he said. "It'll make good
rags if anything else. That's what I was about to do with it."

"I'll find something to do with it, sir," he
assured him.

"Well, I won't keep you. I know they keep you
Novices busier than a frog on a griddle. Have a good day, young man."

"You too, sir," he mirrored.

Tarrin took his clothes back to his room and put them
away neatly in the chest. He took off the ones he was wearing and put on a set
of his old leathers out of his pack, then picked up his staff and went
outside. He debated where to do his practicing for several moments. It had to
be an open area out of the way. But a moment of thought told him that the
perfect place was that sand-strewn area he'd crossed the night he arrived. It
even had several large posts driven into the ground, and was obviously a
training field for someone, most likely the Tower guards. If nobody was using
it, it would be perfect for his needs.

But it was indeed being used. A squad of young men
wearing leather pseudo-armor labored on the field, swinging lathe-bundled
practice swords to the barking command of a burly man wearing the plate armor
of a Knight. Farther down the line, young men swung their practice swords at
the wooden posts, and in another place they sparred against each other. About
seven or eight other Knights prowled the field, correcting stances and giving
instruction as they moved, or they supervised the sparring matches with a keen
eye. Tarrin also noticed three robed Sorcerers standing to one side. They
were obviously there in case of an accidental injury.

As Tarrin approached, he recognized one of the prowling
Knights. It was Faalken. Dolanna had said that he trained students when not
out with her. Faalken noticed him and trotted out quickly to greet him, his
plate armor jingling as he moved. "Tarrin!" he said joyfully,
clapping the Were-cat's paw in his strong hand. "Dolanna told me you were
back. You look very well."

"I do now," he said ruefully. "I wasn't
in very good shape when I got here."

"Yes, she told me. She said it wasn't easy on
you."

"Not by a measure," he grunted.

He took notice of his staff. "Here to practice a
bit?"

"I remembered seeing the field, but I didn't know
if it would be used," he said apologetically. "I'll go find
someplace else."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're more than
welcome here. It's not often that we get to see someone other than Elsa use
the Ways, anyway."

"Is she any good?" he asked.

"Let's just say that I've never seen a Sorceress
thump so many heads without magic," he said with a grin.

"I'm not surprised," he said back.
"She's from the Emden clan, and they've always been very good at the
Ways. It's a matter of pride with them."

"Yes, well, just find yourself an open spot,"
he invited. "I hope you won't mind if some of us watch."

"Not really," he said.

Tarrin picked a small corner of the soft sand practice
field and turned the staff over in paws several times, getting a feel for the
changes. The staff seemed a little smaller to him now, and he'd have to adjust
his grip on it. He started going through forms, very slowly, sliding from one
to the next with a fluid grace and feeling the changes in leverage, the shifts
in the grip he'd have to make, the adjustments to take his new height into
account. His wide feet gave him more stability than before, and his Were-cat
sense of balance and equilibrium was a definite asset. He worked through the
same forms again several times, going faster and faster each time, until he
whirled through the routine at blazing full speed. He almost dropped the staff
three times, but his inhuman agility and speed allowed him to snatch it back
before it got out of control. His huge paws made walking the staff over the
back of his paw harder than it had been before, which meant he'd have to be
more careful with grip-shift moves.

Tarrin began to sweat as he started practicing with
some of the more difficult forms, slowly working himself into the changes the
bite had brought about and adapting to them. He knew it would take more than
just one day, but he was pleased at the amount of progress he'd already made
after a few short hours of work.

He then started with the mixed move forms, staff moves
that were accented with punches or kicks, even headbutts and several throws. He
began to experiment, changing a punch into a claw rake or a stab with the
pointed ends of his claws, changing a foot sweep into a tail-sweep. All in
all, making such minor changes wasn't much of a problem, just very subtle
changes to his stances or sets to take a broader swipe into account and such.

"Not bad," Faalken complemented as Tarrin
stopped for a moment to gather in his breath. "I forgot how good you are
with that thing."

"It's coming along," Tarrin told him.
"I need to practice the hand forms. I think it'll be harder for me to use
them that the staff now."

"Why is that?"

"Because alot of what they are depends on your
strengths and weaknesses," he said. "All those are different for me
now. I'll almost have to re-teach myself the forms. Weapons don't change like
that. Well, sure, there are some things that are different now, but it's
adjusting to the weapon. In hand forms, I have nothing to adjust to, so that
changes it all around." He made a face. "If that makes any sense."

"I understand what you're trying to say, even if
you're doing a bad job of it," he said with a grin. "Weapon forms
are weapon forms, but your hand forms are more or less suited just for you.
You're a different you now, so you need to use new forms."

"Exactly," he said. "What I already
know is all I need. I just need to learn the new way to use them. I have
these claws now, and the tail. I need to learn how to use them in a
fight."

"Wise idea," he said with an outrageous
smile.

"You," Tarrin said, shaking a paw at him.
"It's good to practice again," he sighed. "I forgot what it was
like. And I still want to beat my mother in a fight."

"I think you could do that now," Faalken
observed slyly.

"I wouldn't cheat," he said in an outraged
tone.

"How is it cheating?"

"It just is," he said after a moment's blank
look.

"When are you going to give up that overgrown
toothpick and use a real weapon?" Faalken asked.

"Like what?"

"Like a sword."

"I've used swords before. I don't like
them," he said. "They're too crude."

"Crude?" Faalken gasped in feigned
shock.

"Crude," he said again. "They have no
style. Any fool can pick up a sword and use one."

"I'm glad you think so," Faalken laughed.

"And they're crude in using them as well," he
added. "It's too easy to kill when you don't want to kill. With my
staff, I have to make a conscious choice to deliver a killing blow. It's not
as uncertain as it is with a sword."

"You just never learned how to control one,"
Faalken told him. "If you think it's that crude, then you have alot to
learn about them."

"I do know how to use one," he said.
"My father uses one. But then again, my father won't draw it unless he
intends to kill, so there's no open area about leaving people alive as far as
he's concerned."

"So....you consider it crude because you don't
like it?" Faalken surmised.

"Just about," Tarrin said with a grin.
"Keep you toy, Faalken. I'll stay with a real weapon."

"What happens if you don't have it with you?"
Faalken asked.

"Faalken, my friend, that's what these are
for," he replied, showing the Knight his claws. "And I can't leave
these behind. They're with me everywhere I go."

Faalken laughed. "Point taken," he acceded.
"But all in all, I'd still like to see you practice the sword. And the
axe, and any other weapons you know. Best get used to using them as you are,
in case you ever come to a situation where you need to use them."

"I can agree to that," he said after a
moment. "Better to be ready for what will never be."

"Because only a fool says never," Faalken
finished the saying.

Tarrin looked up at the sun. It was nearly noon. The
students were filing off the field in neat rows, and that reminded him that it
was about time for lunch. "I have to go, Faalken," he said.
"I'll see you later."

"Have a good day, Tarrin. Come visit again
soon."

"I hope to," he said.

In the Hall, as he was settling in for lunch, he
managed to spot Walten a few tables over. Rushing over there, he saw that
Tiella was sitting with him. They both saw him, and Tiella waved to him
happily. "Tarrin!" Tiella said with a smile. "It's so good to
see you!"

"They told us you made it," Walten told him
with a grin.

"It wasn't easy," Tarrin said. He tapped the
shoulder of the Novice that was sitting across the table from his friends.
"Excuse me, would you like to trade seats?" he asked. "These
are old friends of mine."

The young girl gaped at him a moment, then hastily
vacated the area. The novices to each side of her scooted away from him as he
stepped over the bench and sat down, shaking Walten's hand over the table and
holding onto Tiella's a moment. "What happened after the boat sank?"
Walten asked.

Tarrin gave them a very brief account of what had
happened after he'd parted ways with them. He told them about Jesmind, but
didn't go into the more personal things that had happened between them.
"So after I got away from her, I made my way here," he finished.
"It wasn't easy because of all the raiders running around. I was in
pretty bad shape when I got here."

"Wow," Tiella said. "Nothing happened
to us. We just got another boat and kept going."

"How's the Noviate?" Tarrin asked.

"Busy," Walten grunted. "I've never
cleaned so much in my life. I think I may see if I can go back to being a
carpenter."

"I'm starting to hate rags," Tiella added.
"They make me clean the Keeper's office, and she goes into fits if she
sees even a speck of dust."

"That's all you do?"

"Believe me, that's enough," she said with a
screwed-up face.

Tarrin laughed. "Just stick with it," he
said. "They can't make you clean forever. What are you learning?"

"Right now, history," Walten told him.
"We don't get to start learning Sorcery until we learn some things about
history and geography, and even things about adding numbers and a class on
logic. After that, they put us in the Initiate, and we start learning
magic."

"Sorcery," the Novice beside him said
absently.

"Yeah," he said. "They make you scrub
the privies if they hear you say that word."

"We call it the M word," Tiella told him.

"How long have you been doing this?" he
asked.

"Almost two rides," Tiella told him. A ride
was ten days, so it was nearly twenty days.

"They must have put you in fast."

"The day after we got here," Walten told him.

Tarrin chuckled. "They didn't waste any time, did
they?"

"None," Tiella agreed.

Elsa stood, and the Hall stood with her for the
blessing of the meal. Tarrin thought about what they'd said while she talked.
They'd wanted to do the same with him, but he hadn't been in shape to do it.
It must have been standard practice. He was very glad that they'd had no
trouble after he'd been separated from them. Faalken and Dolanna were
experienced travellers, but Walten and Tiella weren't really suited for
fighting. They could, and did, though. Both of them had exhibited dogged
courage and determination in the fights that had happened while he was with
them. But they hadn't had the fighting background that he did. He was happy
that it had been left to him, and not to them. It wasn't that he liked
fighting, it was that he was better suited for it than them.

The blessing over, they all sat back down and started
to eat. Tarrin listened as Tiella and Walten talked about the routine of
classes in the morning, lunch, then maybe one more class, and then off to do
all the cleaning, or whatever duty was imposed upon them that day. They talked
about several instructors, and Tarrin was a bit surprised to find out that only
a few of the Novitiate teachers were actually Sorcerers. But then again, the
Novitiate dealt with pure knowledge, and a non-sorcerer was just as capable of
teaching history or numbers as a Sorcerer.

Tarrin stared at a Sorcerer who had entered the Hall
and started staring at him. It was an old man, with sunken eyes and cheeks and
with a white-fringed ring of hair around that bald pate. He wore a simple
brown robe that was slightly food-stained. The man moved with an erratic gait,
as if one leg didn't always want to work the right way, and he made a
zig-zagging, meandering course to Elsa and the Sorcerers seated at the table on
the dais at the far end of the Hall.

"He's a little man that thinks it makes him bigger
to put other people down," Walten grunted. "Standing on a man's
shoulders may let you see higher, but you're still the same size once you get
down."

"Well, that's a problem that will have to
wait," Tarrin told them. "None of us are there yet. I'm not even here
yet," he said with a smile.

"Tomorrow," Tiella told him. "We were
all told about you, Tarrin," she said with a wink.

"Told? Told what?"

"That you'd be in the Noviate," she said.
"A Sorcerer came into our class and told us about you. That you'd be in
the Novitiate, and that since you're not human, you're not quite like everyone
else. He said a few things about how to act around you, and said as long as we
don't make you mad, that everything will be just fine."

"Nobody told me they were doing that," he
said.

"I guess they want to make sure that nothing bad
happens," Walten said. "Tykarthians and Draconians don't like people
who aren't human, and the Dals really hate them, because of all the Goblins up
in the mountains."

"I'm not a Goblinoid," Tarrin grunted.

"Yes, well, even I think that if someone called
you a really bad name, you'd do something to them," Tiella said.

"I would," he affirmed bluntly. "But
you know me, Tiella. I would have done it even before this happened to
me."

"True," she acceded.

"There's going to be another one," Walten
said.

"Another what?"

"We heard about it in our class today. A Selani
is going to come and enter the Noviate."

A Selani. One of the Desert Folk, who lived out in the
Desert of Swirling Sands to the east of Arkis. That desert, and the Selani
that lived there, were the only things keeping the countless legions of the
empire of Arak out of the West. The Selani were a hard people, like their
desert, and they were regarded the world over as the most lethal adversaries in
hand to hand combat in all the world. The Ungaardt were known for their
fighting ability, but even the Ungaardt paled in comparison to the Selani.
Five hundred years ago, the Emperor of Arak decided to try to invade Arkis.
That was when Arkis was a fledgeling nation, made up of Arakites that had fled
from the brutal oppression of the Emperor, Zanak XVI. An advance force of
Arakite Legions had tried to cross the desert, and were obliterated by the
Selani. Angered by the loss, the Emperor ordered his legions to sweep the
desert and kill anything that moved. The Selani simply allowed the invaders to
come in, let them wander around for about a month to let the heat and blowing
sand take their toll, then they wiped out the invaders. The Selani had been
angered by the attacks, and after a council of all the clans, they decided to
attack Arak.

No nation in the world would have been insane enough to
make that decision, but the Selani were beings of high honor. Their honor had
been stained by the invasion, and they meant to punish the Emperor for his
actions. Nine of the fifteen clans left the desert and fell on the western
border of Arak like the a tidal wave of destruction. They laid waste to
absolutely everything in their path, but, according to their honor, they killed
not one civilian. All who did not raise a weapon to the Selani were allowed
free passage to safety. Many simply remained behind the Selani lines, for the
Selani advanced so quickly that there was no way they could outrun the
advance. These were treated as guests of the Selani, and were given tents to
live in and food to eat while the Clans eradicated their Empire. Zanak became
so enraged and bewildered at the unstoppable Selani that he took command of the
army personally and met them on the plains of Dala Ren. The Selani clans met
the elite of the Arakite Legions on that grassy plain, and killed them to the
last man. The Emperor himself was captured and taken back to the desert, where
not a word was heard from him again. Nobody even knew what fate had befell him
at the hands of the Selani.

The Emperor captured, the Selani clans simply withdrew,
leaving the throne to the Emperor's eldest son, Zanak XVII. The ruined western
marches of the Empire blamed the Empire for their loss, and seceeded, becoming
the kingdom of Selas. The Emperor was too busy fighting a sudden war on his
eastern frontier, caused by the decimation of the Legion reserves, to attend
the matter immediately. But once that war was finished, Zanak set his legions
to invade what was once his own empire.

The legions advanced to the border, and found three
clans of Selani sitting on the other side waiting for them. The people of the
new kingdom had managed to befriend the Selani, and the Selani had had council
and decided that a nation between the desert and Arak would be better for all
involved. So they simply created one. Zanak, fearful of the lethal ability of
the Selani, who were clearly allied with his former subjects, decided to sue
for peace instead. Arak recognized the sovereignty of Selas, formal peace
treaties were drawn up and signed, and everyone went home. Arak was the
largest single nation on the planet, and yet even they were no match for the
fighting prowess of the Selani. It is a world-wide relief that the Selani have
no interest in conquest. So long as they are left alone, they are quite happy
to dwell in their desert in perfect contentment. And all of the Selani's
neighbors are more than willing to let that happen.

"I wonder what the Selani will be like,"
Tarrin mused.

"I heard it's a she," Walten said. "A
Clan Princess or some such thing. Some kind of noble."

"Who knows," Tarrin said. "I'll be
curious to meet her, though. Well, I need to go to the library for a while.
See you two later."

"Have fun," Walten said.

"Just be careful, Tarrin," Tiella said.
"Some of the other Novices don't like you. Don't let them bully you into
a fight."

"Tiella, dear, don't worry about it. Once I kill
a few of them, I think the rest will leave me alone."

"Tarrin!" Tiella gasped.

Tarrin laughed as he stood up. "I'm just teasing
you, Tiella," he said with a grin. "See you later."

Tarrin spent several frustrating hours in the library
after that. There were lots of books on magic, and magical theory, and many
other such things, but most of them were written for people who already had a
basic understanding of magic. He did eventually find one that explained the
fundamental differences between the four orders of magic, but it wasn't that
much of a help. According to the book, there were four distinct orders of
magic, each one using a different type of it. There were the Sorcerers, who
drew energy from the world around them, it said. From something called the
Weave, which the author stated was all around the world. The Wizards, or
Mages, drew magic from elsewhere. The book didn't say exactly where
that was, but it made it clear that Wizardly magic was not of this world. That
concept intrigued him. Priests used Clerical magic, they drew their magical
power directly from the Gods themselves, beseeching the God to grant the priest
the power to work the magic. Tarrin had seen Clerical magic before, when a
priest of Karas came to the village to help stop a strange sickness that had
spread through the village. The last order were the Druids. The book was very
vague about the Druids, and it stated that they were extremely secluded and
reserved. The author stated that they drew their magical power directly from
the earth itself, tapping the raw power of nature for the magic to cast their
enchantments.

"I did not expect to see you here, dear one,"
Dolanna's voice called. Tarrin looked up, and saw her standing by the table.

"I've been reading," he said as she seated
herself across from him. "Haven't been getting very far, though."

"What about?"

"Sorcery," he said pointedly.

"Worry not over it," she assured him.
"They will give you that instruction in due time."

"I know, but I have reasons to start thinking
about doing it now," he said.

"You worry that much?"

"Let's just call it being safe," he said.
"Jesmind is out there, and me being in here makes no difference to her.
If I can get in without attention, so can she. She will try, Dolanna.
And I'll need every weapon I can get when that happens."

"The Keeper is aware of it, Tarrin," she
said. "I do believe that she has already taken steps to find her."

"She won't."

"Give us some credit, young one," she said.
"We have more at our disposal than normal spies."

"Be that as it may, I'm not placing my trust in
someone I don't know."

She was about to say something, but she held her peace
instead. "How was your day?"

"Busy," he said.

"Faalken told me you were on the field. The
others were most impressed with you."

"I don't see why. They've seen Elsa, so they've
seen me."

"Tarrin, you may not understand this, but you are
very fun to watch," she told him with a smile. "You are very graceful,
and you move as if you float. When you were out on the field, Faalken said it
was like watching a professional dance. He also remarked that you should think
of using acrobatics," she said.

"Acrobatics?"

"Tumbles, flips, and such," she said.
"You are more than capable of it. I have seen you do such things."

"I'll think about it," he said. "Any
word on who my teacher is going to be?"

"Tarrin, that day is some ways in the
future," she told him. "There will not be a decision for some
time." She stood again. "It is not good for us to be seen thus very
often. If I need to speak with you, I will send you a message."

"Alright. Have a good night, Dolanna."

"You too, dear one."

After dinner, Dar and Tarrin sat in the room. Dar was
at the desk, writing a series of numbers exercises on a piece of paper, and
Tarrin was reading a book he took from the library, a book studying the
condition the author called Lycanthropy, which was another name for the
condition of the assorted Were-kin. The book named several different species,
such as Were-wolves, Were-bears, Were-dogs, Were-boars, Were-rats, and
Were-tigers. It also talked about some of the lesser known strains, such as
Were-foxes, Were-lions, Were-wolverines, Were-bats, and his own kind, the Were-cats.
The book touched on the society of Fae-da'Nar, saying that the Were-kin
existed in a very loose association so that there was very little infighting
between them. It didn't mention anything about other woodland beings being in
it the way Jesmind said they were.

Tarrin hadn't really thought all that much about other
Were-creatures, or any other creatures for that matter. He was born human, and
though he no longer was, he was more human than anything else. His upbringing
made him thus, and while the Cat could alter that, it could not replace it. In
the short days since meeting Jesmind, a peace had fallen over him. He had
almost no trouble with the Cat, although he could feel it there. It was almost
like the Human and the Cat in him had struck a bargain to work together.
Tarrin felt that the Human had to give up a few things, which accounted for the
Jesmind-like attitudes and mannerisms that had come over him lately. But that
was a small price to pay for the peace under his ears. Tarrin did not embrace
what he was, but he had accepted it. And he knew that that was an important
step.

It was all so strange. When he'd left Aldreth, never
in his wildest dreams did he think that he would have ended up the way he did.
It was almost like the Favor of the Lady had turned black on him. But in
another way, he had to admit that being what he was had saved his life. That
Wyvern may have killed him had he not been Were, and capable of the inhuman
speed and coordination he'd used to sheathe its poisoned tail. And make the
jump to shore, then make the jump that got him out of reach of the Trolls. It
was better to live changed than not to live at all.

Rather shamedly, he realized that he hadn't written a
letter to his parents. Though they knew of his change, he still thought it was
only decent to write to them himself. Best to let them know he was well and
whole.

It wasn't easy to write with his huge paws, but he
managed to pinch the quill pen between two fingers, and proceeded to write. He
wrote simply, honestly, the way he talked to them. He told them about his
change, and disclosed much of the journey down in simple, straightforward
words. Then he described what it was like as best he could, since it was so
very hard to try to explain sensations that a human had never experience.

While he was writing his farewells, the door opened
after a single sharp knock. Elsa stood in the doorway, wearing her tunic and
breeches, her blond hair damp from the bathing pool. "Tarrin, a word with
you," she said in the Ungaardt tongue.

"Yes Mistress?" he asked in kind.

"You'll be presented to the Keeper in the Hall
tomorrow before breakfast," she said. "It's a simple ceremony that
inducts you into the Novitiate. After that, you'll go to your first class.
Someone there will guide you."

"Alright, Mistress Elsa," he said.

"Oh, there's a Selani in the Tower," she
said. "You'll be in class with her. She doesn't seem to like humans, so
we'd like you to show her around after class."

"I can do that, Mistress," he replied.

"Alright. Have a good night."

"You to, Mistress," he replied, and she
closed the door.

"What language was that?" Dar asked.

"Ungaardt," he replied.

"It's like a broken lute," he said sourly.

"I didn't invent it," Tarrin shrugged.

"I should teach you a civilized language,"
Dar told him. "Arakite."

"I know Arakite," Tarrin told him calmly.

"You do?" he said, looking at him strangely.

"My father speaks it. He learned it when he was
in the army. He taught it to me."

"How many languages do you speak?" Dar asked
curiously.

"Four," he replied. "The Common tongue,
Ungaardt, Arakite, and Dal. I learned Dal from the village smith, Karn
Rocksplitter, and enough Dals come down from the mountains to make speaking the
language a good idea. They trade with us sometimes."

"Where did you find time to learn all these
things?" Dar said in consternation.

"We don't have much else to do once the chores are
done," Tarrin shrugged. "We don't have a big farm, so it doesn't
take very long. I learned the Common tongue and Ungaardt when I was a baby,
because that's what my mother speaks. My father taught me Arakite when I was a
boy, and I learned Dal from Karn during the time I was helping him at his
forge, after his apprentice broke his leg in an accident. Karn would teach me
as he hammered the metal. It gave him something to occupy his mind, because he
was such a good smith he didn't have to think about his work."

"This could be handy," Dar said in Arakite.

"Like we'll have to keep secrets," Tarrin said
in Arakite with a smile.

"I know Shacčan," Dar told him. "Maybe
I'll teach you that instead."

"I don't see much use for it," Tarrin said.
"I never thought I'd use this language, ever. Except to talk about mother
in front of her with father without her understanding."

Dar laughed. "If she's Ungaardt, she probably
didn't appreciate it."

"Mother does it to father too," Tarrin said.
"I think it's a game with them. Mother doesn't know Arakite, and father
doesn't know Ungaardt. I'm the one in the middle."

"Must be a dangerous place," Dar said with a
grin.

"No, not really. It's just a game with them, so
they never ask what the other is talking about."

"Ah well."

Tarrin looked around the room. "Dar, there's
something about me you should know," he said in Arakite. "I think
it's best to get this out of the way now, so you don't have a heart attack when
you see it."

"What?" he asked curiously. He raised an
eyebrow as Tarrin started to take off his clothes.

"I don't want this to go out of this room,"
he said.

"It won't, I promise," he replied as Tarrin
shed the last of his clothes.

"This." Tarrin fixed the image of the cat in
his mind and willed himself to change. The room went gray, as it did when he
was in transition, and his body swiftly melted into the new form. When vision
returned to him, he looked up at the now-gigantic Dar and meowed complacently.

"Yaman!" he gasped, speaking the name of the
patron God of Arkis. Then he made a curious scratching gesture with his right
hand over his eyes, and made one small bow. It must have been religious in
nature, Tarrin guessed. Maybe speaking his God's name was taboo or something.
"Tarrin, is that you?"

Tarrin nodded, sitting down calmly.

"I heard stories about this, but I never thought
to think about it. You can't talk, can you?"

Tarrin shook his head.

"But it's obvious you can understand me."

Tarrin nodded.

"May I?" he asked. When Tarrin nodded, Dar
reached down and picked him up. "By the storm, you're heavy," he
grunted as he shifted Tarrin into a comfortable position, then he started to
scratch his ears idly. "You're cute like this," he said with a
grin. He then put him down, and Tarrin resumed his own shape.

"So if you see me like that in the room, don't
have a conniption," Tarrin told him, bending down and retrieving his
trousers. "Sometimes I like to sleep that way. And I'd appreciate it if
you didn't give me away if you see me like that out in the Tower. There may
come a time when I'll want to sneak around." He sat down and started
pulling them back on. "Oh, if you see a white cat that looks alot like
me, come find me and let me know immediately."

"That would be this Jesmind, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," he said.

"I'll keep an eye out," he promised, then he
yawned. "I think I'll go to sleep early, after you kept me up last
night."

"Sure, blame it all on me," he shot back with
a smile. "But I think I could go for some sleep myself."

Tarrin had discovered that the strange balls of light
were called Glowglobes, and they were all over the Tower. Not a single candle
was used anywhere. The secret to making them were lost over the years, as was
so much that the Sorcerers had managed to achieve before the disastrous
Breaking which had occurred two thousand years ago. Tarrin had heard that
story from his father, who had heard it from a Sorcerer.

The Breaking was a series of natural disasters that had
ravaged the world from one end to the other. Fires, earthquakes, tidal waves,
followed by disease and famine. It was a savage time for the world, and in the
West, the ever-jealous Priests had managed to convince the people that the
Breaking was the fault of the mysterious Sorcerers. In a climax of mindless
fury, a mob of thousands and thousands had stormed the one and only center of learning
for Sorcerers in the whole world, the Tower. Rather than defend the Tower and
kill thousands, thereby destroying the reputation of the Sorcerers, the Keeper
at that time, Valas Dansen, ordered the Sorcerers who were not in the Tower to
hide themselves and keep the art alive. Then the Sorcerers in the Tower raised
a mystical ward which blocked the mob for long enough to weave one more
enchantment.

When the ward lowered and the mob stormed the Tower,
they found it empty.

Totally empty. Not even the furniture remained. The
Sorcerers had decided that rather than kill innocents, or allow themselves and
their knowledge to be destroyed, they would simply vanish. And in vanishing,
they would take themselves and every scrap of the knowledge that they had
accumulated along with them. Eron had told him that to this very day, nobody
knew what happened to the Ancients, as they were called, or where they went.

The mob, thinking that it was some great curse laid on
the place, fled in panic. And the Tower remained empty for over a thousand
years. After the vanishing, Karas, the patron God of Sulasia, was incensed at
his priests for their duplicitous destruction of the Sorcerers, whose Goddess,
a goddess that had no name anywhere, was an ally. He stripped the priests of
Karas of all their magical powers, and decreed that they would remain without
magic for a period of one hundred years. And that was how it was. Without
their magical powers, the priests of Karas were subjected to the humility of
the common man, and so they were punished for their part of the deed.

Things remained thus until Malin Trent, the Crusader,
entered the Tower and called out to all his hidden brothers and sisters who
practiced the forbidden art of Sorcery to return and dwell in the Tower in
peace. Malin suffered serious challenges to his crusade to restore Sorcery,
for the priesthood again took up their old war against the Sorcerers, whom they
despised, calling Malin Trent a witch and a consorter with evil. Malin and
those Sorcerers that did return to the Tower found themselves to be the objects
of ridicule and scorn, and not a few outright attacks. One year after Malin
reclaimed the Tower, and had persuaded some three hundred of his secreted
brothers and sisters to join him in the open, the priests again carefully
staged and incited a near-riot, whipping up the people against the Sorcerers to
drive these new ones out just as the old ones were. The old ward that once
stopped a mob was restored, for it was an ancient magic that was still in place
and had not deteriorated over the centuries.

In desperation, the Tower met in secret and reached an
agreement with the King of Sulasia, Ulan the Wise. The Sorcerers would be
permitted to return to their ancestral seat and return to their lives of study
and contemplation. The Crown would protect the Tower and the order from the
priests and the people. But in recompense, the King demanded that the
Sorcerers perform certain tasks for the crown which their Goddess did not deem
unsuitable, tasks that the order of Karas would not do themselves, for in their
arrogance they felt themselves above the Crown. The Sorcerers would also rise
up in defense of Suld itself, should the city ever be attacked. The treaty was
sealed, and Malin Trent returned in secrecy to the Tower.

After Ulan's army put down the riot and dispersed the
people, the Tower quickly proved to the Ulan how incredibly useful they could
be. Ulan had inherited a weak nation from his father, for with the punishment
of the priests so long ago added to the taboo of housing the Sorcerers, Sulasia
did not have the political or military power of its neighbors. Draconia, which
was one nation at that time, was at that time preparing to invade Sulasia for
its rich farming land and deep harbored city of Suld. The kingdom of Tharan, which had been to the east and on the land that Aldreth now stood upon, also
was preparing to attack the weakened nation. In a concerted effort, the two
nations invaded Sulasia and found undefended territory, for Ulan had pulled all
his troops back to Suld, to defend the ancient and proud city against
invasion. The two armies reached the vast plain on which Suld stood, and
advanced in total confidence that the city was theirs for the taking.

Bound by their treaties with the King, the Sorcerers of
the Tower rose up and smote the armies with their magical power. Eron had
shuddered at that point in the story, only saying that the destruction wrought
by the Tower was horrific. Neither army managed to get a single man to the
walls of the city. The army of Tharan was totally annihilated, and the
Draconian forces escaped with only one tenth of their total manpower. And that
small fragment itself was destroyed when the Sulasian army flooded out of Suld
and caught up with them on the south side of the Scar. The natural boundary
proved to be the doom of the fleeing enemy, who, in their mad rush to get over
to the safety of Draconia, broke the bridge under their weight and doomed those
behind them. After the slaughter, Sulasia quietly marched into Tharan, whose
king was killed at Suld, and annexed the entire nation. Ulan also captured and
annexed the southern marches of Draconia below the rugged hills that marked the
western edge of the Skydancer Mountains.

The priests of Karas were outraged at this new
alliance, but there was nothing they could do. They had refused to be of
service to the king, and in that rejection they had lost his ear. That place
was now held by the Keeper, and so long as the Crown and the Keeper were
allied, the priesthood could do nothing. They did, however, continue to try to
turn the people against the Tower. But after a yet third attempt, one which
the priests orchestrated from a veil of secrecy, Karas himself took notice of
the behavior of his priests, and stripped them of their magic for a period of
one year as a warning that such behavior would not be tolerated.

That Glowglobe represented what the Sorcerers had lost
after the Breaking, for the secrets of the Ancients had disappeared with them
when they vanished. All of their accumulated knowledge was gone, and the
hatred of the Sorcerers caused the destruction of nearly all of the knowledge
they had gathered that had not been housed in the Tower. The eradication of
knowledge had been so complete that literally nothing was left of the Ancients,
only this ancient Tower which they had built, and the smallest of scraps of
lore from old tomes and training that was passed down through the generations,
training that deteriorated from the tremendous power of the Ancients, a power
that was only now, after two thousand years, just beginning to be researched
again. It was the driving force of the Tower now, to rediscover the power of
the Ancients and return it to the world.

A lofty goal, Tarrin though it. But grand, and noble,
in its own way. In the thousand years since the return of the Sorcerers,
they'd more or less stayed to themselves, opening the school in the Tower and
forming a somewhat unfriendly alliance with the priests of Karas, by way of the
Knights. The Knights were a militant order of the church of Karas, but were sworn and duty-bound, on command of the Crown, to defend the Tower itself and
to protect and guard the Sorcerers whenever they left it. Arman the Just, the
king who had made that decree, had done it to try to foment a favorable
relationship between the two orders, but it had done little more than anger the
priesthood and strengthen the Sorcerers. A Knight's oaths were to Karas, not
the order of the priesthood, and defending the Tower and the katzh-dashi
were their primary goals. They did perform service for the priesthood, but
when and only when those duties did not come before their defense of the Tower
and its inhabitants. They were a free-standing entity, related to the Church
but not a true part of it, and that situation made every high priest of Karas
chew on the carpet in frustration for the seven hundred years that the Knights
had been in existence.

And during all that thousand years, they had done
almost nothing but study and research. Since his father was no Sorcerer, he
didn't really know how far along they'd gotten in their quest to reclaim the
power of the Ancients. But Tarrin was certain that they'd managed to make some
gains, some discoveries. After a thousand years, that was almost a given. And
it was what he would learn.

Tarrin closed his eyes and thought about that for a
while, half-dreams where he speculated about learning the power of Sorcery.
Then he fell asleep.

Chapter
8

Tarrin was quite amazed as he stood in the Hall beside
the other entrants into the Novitiate.

This Selani was gorgeous.

She was stunningly beautiful, with swarthy, creamy
brown skin and exotic white hair that was so thick it was amazing, silky and
very fine, and hung down to her backside in loosely curled waves of brilliant
white. She had a face that artists would sell their souls to capture on
canvas. She was ethereal, delicate, and quite exquisite, with her slender nose
and high, arched cheekbones and almond shaped eyes that were so intensely blue
that even the pupils had a bluish cast to them. Tarrin could readily admit
that he had never seen any woman that could compare to the ethereal beauty of
this Selani woman who stood before him. Her body was as perfect as her face.
She was amazingly tall, only a bit shorter than Tarrin himself, who stood a
head over most men. Her generous figure and shape were perfectly proportioned
for her tall stature, and she had a figure that rivalled Jesmind's, the first
woman he'd seen that could compare with his fiery bond-mother. And just like
Jesmind, Tarrin's sharp eyes could see the definition of the muscles in what
brown skin he could see, for she wore a baggy sand-colored, long sleeved shirt
and a matching pair of pants. She may look slender and delicate, but this was
one flower with steel for a stem. Selani were warriors, and she had a
warrior's body. Her scent was metallic, almost coppery, a clear symbol of her
non-human heritage, but at the same time it was very spicy and clean, and he
found it to be quite appealing. Tarrin noticed idly that she only had four
fingers on each hand. Three fingers and a thumb. And her hands were not
malformed, nor was she missing fingers; that was how they were meant to be.

She also had a look of aloof distance on her face.
Elsa had said that she didn't like humans, but to Tarrin, it was more like a
resentment at being in her current position. Tarrin had felt like that a few
times, and that was exactly how he looked when he was in them. She didn't want
to be here, and that was plainly visible.

The little ceremony of induction into the Novitiate was
dry and dusty, and Tarrin didn't even listen to the Keeper as she droned on
about being there to learn, obeying their teachers and the Sorcerers and all
that rot. He was considering the Selani. Tarrin had an intense interest in
her, for some unknown reason. She looked aloof, but Tarrin saw under that, and
to him, she looked alone. He thought that, if he approached her the right way,
that they could become good friends. He wondered if that wasn't why he was so
interested in her. She looked very lonely to him, and he didn't like to see
anyone suffer like that. The days alone with nothing but his fear as he ran
from Jesmind and the Goblinoids had put a soft spot in his heart to people in
similar fixes. Here was a young woman taken very far from everything she had
known and thrust into a sea of confusion, where nothing was comfortable or
understood, and surrounded by people to whom she could not relate.

After the little speech, the twenty or so new Novices
were allowed to go sit down. Tarrin made a special note to sit next to the
beautiful Selani woman, and once blessing was said, he turned to her. "My
name is Tarrin," he told her. "I was told to show you the places in
the Tower after class."

"I was told of you," she said in a toneless
voice, which was quite pretty. Her accent was thick, and it made her voice
sound very exotic. It was almost as if she was trying to sing the words of the
Common tongue. "I do not need to be guided. I can find my own way."

"As you wish," he said in a carefully neutral
voice. "Whatever makes you feel most comfortable."

That word had the desired effect. She blinked those
luminous eyes once and regarded him carefully. "You are devious,"
she said in a calm voice. "There is more of a cat about you than fur,
strange one."

"I meant no offense," he said. "You
just look very unsettled. I meant to offer you friendship."

"Friendship is a thing that is earned, not
given," she told him abruptly. "But your concern for me touches my
heart. I would accept your offer. We will go see these places after this
class."

And she spoke not another word. An Initiate gathered
up the new Novices and escorted them to a large room with many chairs, all
facing a small podium with a huge slate board behind it A small man with
thinning brown hair and wearing a tight-fitting tunic and hose in the Sulasian
style stood at the podium. "Good morning," he said as they were
seated. "My name is Sheldin Brewer, and I will be your instructor in the
subjects of history and geography," he introduced. "I know that some
of you already know a good deal of history, and some of you know geography, but
just be patient so that those who don't have a chance to catch up a bit."

And so he began. Tarrin knew a goodly amount of
history, thanks to his father, but this Sheldin touched on events and places
that Tarrin had never heard of. He also knew just about everywhere, as he
roughly sketched in the four continents of the Known World and the kingdoms and
nations on which they stood, and described very briefly the continent across
the sea which was the domain of the Wikuni. Although it was a dry subject, the
man's light manner and keen knowledge of his material made the class actually
enjoyable, and he was surprised when the man broke the class for lunch.
"All of you are to sit together at the table directly in front of the
Mistress of Novice's table," he instructed. "An Initiate will come
and escort each of you to where you need to be after lunch. We will meet again
in this room tomorrow after breakfast. Good day to you."

"The man is learned," the Selani said in her
calm voice as they walked back to the Hall.

"Yes, he is," Tarrin agreed. "I'd
expect him to try to pull you aside pretty soon," he said.

"Why?"

"I don't think he'll pass up a chance to learn
about your desert," Tarrin told her. "Nobody but your people go
there, so he'll jump at the chance to ask you about it."

"It is our home," she said. "That is
all there is to tell him."

"True, but he'll still want to know," he
said. "Men like that are driven by the hunger to learn."

"It is a good quality," she observed.
"There is honor in knowledge."

She still hadn't told him her name. Tarrin didn't want
to push her too hard, though. He had the feeling that she could be very
touchy, and he thought that if he put the wrong foot forward now, it would ruin
any chance to strike up a friendship with her. Making friends with her was as
much for him as it was for her, for in her Tarrin felt there was a kindred
spirit, someone else here that did not quite fit in. From her he could expect
honesty, and she had already put him at ease by not showing any fear of him.
After they'd been seated in the Hall and the blessing was made, Tarrin
discreetly watched her as she ate. He was curious about what she would and
would not eat. She did not disappoint him by showing certain peculiarities.
She would not eat pork, he noticed. Nor would she eat any chicken or goose.
He didn't know if those were personal preferences or racial or cultural
preferences, though. She ate a great deal of cabbage and stringed beans, he
saw, and she especially seemed to enjoy the boiled potatos.

Initiates began to arrive, pick out a certain Novice or
Novices, and then leave with them, taking them to their assigned work duties.
Tarrin waited until he was sure the Selani was done with her meal, and then
turned to her. "Do you feel like looking around?" he asked politely.

"It would please me to do so," she answered
in a similarly polite voice.

Tarrin had a good memory, and Dar had been a good
guide, so he mirrored his friend's course of the tour, showing her the
important areas of the Tower. She seemed more or less unimpressed with most of
it, showing interest only in the library. Tarrin gritted his teeth a bit when
he showed her the baths. He had no idea how she was going to accept it.

"Ah, yes, this place," she said when they
came down the stairs.

"They explained how it works?"

"Yes," she said. "I find nothing wrong
with it. A similar custom exists among my people, but we use a sweat tent.
Such an amount of water would never be used for bathing among me people. It is
too precious." She looked at the water longingly a moment. "If only
we had such riches at home."

"If water was this abundant there, it really
wouldn't be a desert anymore," Tarrin noted.

She gave him a sidelong look, and then she laughed. It
sounded like a cascade of silver bells. "I guess it would not," she
agreed, smiling in spite of herself. "I would like to go outside,"
she said. "I came here in the night, so I did not get the chance to see
much of the outside. But I saw much grass and other plants."

"Yes, most of the compoud is grass. I wonder how
they keep it so short," Tarrin mused aloud. "There's a really big
garden behind the tower proper," he told her. "It's very
lovely."

She was awed more at the sight of the grass than she
was with the massive size of the central Tower and the six smaller towers
surrounding it. The sweeping, elegant bridges that connected the upper levels
of the towers to the tower proper were nothing to her, for she was staring out
at the expanse of the lawn. She even reached down and touched it. "It is
so green," she said in a wondrous voice. "I have seen grass and
forests ever since I left my home, but I was so spiteful at being sent here
that I did not look at it. It is a beautiful sight."

"It's all I've ever known," Tarrin told her.
"Maybe someday I'll see your desert, and then I'll be able to compare
them."

"The Motherland is not without its own
beauty," she told him. "The Painted Lands have such color that it
would take your breath, and the mesas and ravines of the Broken Lands cast
shadows across the land that merge with the color of the rock and the sheen of
the heat that make the colors dance like rock snakes. We have green, but it is
so small compared to the rest of the land that it is easy to miss. Here,
everything but what the humans build is green, or brown."

"Let's go look at the garden," he offered.
"And there's something else there that I think you may want to see,"
he added.

She was impressed with the gardens, spending a great
deal of time going from flower to flower and plant to plant, looking at them,
touching them, and smelling them. Tarrin didn't have to get that close to
smell them, he could do it from where he stood. But it did make him appreciate
the beauty of the gardens just a little bit more, watching her take in the
sights of the living beauty of the gardens. After they'd worked their way
through most of it, he got her attention with a paw. "Come on, there's
something else I want to show you," he said. "It's kind of a secret,
though, so don't tell anyone about it."

She raised an elegant white eyebrow. "Then lead
on," she said.

It took him a while to find it again. The scent trail
he'd made before was about two days old. Since he and Dar had crisscrossed the
whole hedge maze more than once, that put their scents all over the place, and
after that much time it was hard to tell the trail that led true to the ones
that went to dead ends. He relied on his memory for most of it, and had led
them almost right to the center. It was finding that elusive choked-off
passage that was challenging. The Selani was starting to get a bit restless as
they reached another dead end. "What are we looking for?" she asked.

"It's a very small passage that's so overgrown
it's almost invisible," he told her, frowning. "It's very hard to
find."

"I saw such a thing not long ago," she told
him.

"You must have sharp eyes," he said.

"Yes," she told him. She led them back to
the place unerringly, and it was indeed the opening to the maze's heart.
"This is it," he told her. "Thanks."

"You are welcome," she said as she followed
him into the living tunnel.

The serenity and beauty of the maze's heart had just as
much effect on her as it had had on Tarrin. He still felt the same wonder and
peace he'd felt the day before as he looked on the lovely statue in the center
of the fountain. They stood at the entryway for several moments, as the Selani
stared at the statue in mute awe. "My roommate and I found this place a
couple of days ago," he said in a hushed voice. "We don't think
anyone else comes here anymore."

"It is a wondrous place," she told him.
"The statue looks almost alive."

"I know," he said, motioning her to follow
him. They sat down on the stone bench in front of the fountain. "Well, I
hope you found the time we spent together tolerable," he told her.

"I think you can stop with the subtle games,
Tarrin," she said with a little smile. "If you are trying to connive
yourself into my good graces, you may stop."

He flushed slightly. "I didn't mean it like
that," he said. "I just didn't want to offend you."

"You have put quite an effort into trying to talk
to me, and befriend me. Why?"

He looked at those intense blue eyes, and decided that
blunt honesty was the only recourse. "When I saw you, you looked very
lonely," he told her. "I didn't want you to be here and be unhappy.
And aside from Dar, my roommate, and the two Novices that travelled here with
me, none of the other Novices will so much as talk to me. I thought that since
you're not human either, we could talk to each other on the same ground. If
you understand me, that is."

She gave him a long, penetrating look, and then put a
hand up against his cheek. "You are very perceptive, Tarrin," she
told him honestly. "I do not want to be here, and I do feel a bit lonely
and homesick. I am touched that you would put yourself out so much for my
benefit when you do not know me. You have much honor, Tarrin. I would be
honored to call you friend."

"I would accept it gladly," he replied.

She smiled. "My name is Allia. Allia
Do'Shi'Faeden, of the clan Faedellin."

"That's a pretty name," he said.

"Thank you."

"How did you come to be here?" he asked.

She sighed. "It was not by choice," she
said. "My father, the clan-chief, decided that a better understanding of
the humans would be a wise thing. The lands of our clan rest by the mountains
that separate the desert from the place you call Arkis, and over the recent
years more and more of them have appeared in our lands. Some seek trade, but
most come seeking to take from the land that which is for the Holy Mother
Goddess. Our lands are rich in the metal gold, and many come to steal it from
our lands. Gold is sacred to our Holy Mother Goddess, and we do not take it
from the ground, but the Arkisians take without regard to the wishes of us or
our Goddess. My father decided to send one clansman here, to this place, to
undergo the learning that is offered so that we may better understand the
humans, and to find ways to stop this thieving without having to wipe Arkis
from the world. My father chose someone else for this task, not I. Not long
before he was to make the journey, a katzh-dashi appeared at our camp.
He took my father aside for some time and spoke with him. After they were
finished the katzh-dashi left, and my father told me that I would go in
the stead of he who was chosen. I was not happy about the choice," she
said sourly. "I do not like humans. I think that the thieving swine
Arkisians should be driven from our lands and made to come no more. After I
made my feelings known, my father demanded twice over that I be made to do it.
He told me that a wise chief always considers all options before making such
decisions. He even made me swear a Blood Oath on it," she said with a
sour grunt. "That was not nice. I am honor bound to treat those I hold
in contempt with a respect I do not believe they have earned."

"Not all humans are the same," he told her.
"I used to be human, before this happened to me."

"No, not all humans are," she agreed.
"I understand that, but I still do not like them. I feel that any other
breed of human would do the same as the Arkisians, should our desert be by
their lands."

"They do so once," she said with a note of
finality. "It has long been the custom of our people to kill all who seek
to invade our lands, save only merchants, who are given safe passage. For a
long time, that was enough to keep all but the honest away. But lately we have
had to kill more and more gold hunters who ignore the laws and the dangers."

"Well, things will work out," he told her.
"Much as I like it here, we'd best not tarry. Odds are they either have
people watching us, and they'll notice we're missing. And I don't want them
coming in here looking for us."

"Truly," she said. "I have noticed such
watchers throughout the day."

"We'll have to come back when we can slip
away," he said. "I like it here, but the idea of others tramping
around in here offends me."

"An interesting notion. Why?"

"Because this place almost seems holy," he told
her. "I get the feeling we're welcome here, but I'd rather not insult
whoever watches this place by leading others in here too."

Allia looked around. "Maybe you are right,"
she said slowly. "I have been honored to feel the touch of the Holy
Mother Goddess upon my soul, and the feeling of this place is something like
that. I think that some God or spirit does keep watch over this
courtyard."

Tarrin was pleased to know that he'd not been far from
the mark. Not long after they'd left the hedge maze, the Keeper herself
approached them. She was alone, which said much about how safe she felt in the
confines of the Tower grounds. Her face was pleasant, even serene, and when
she spoke, it was with a calm, light manner. "Ah, Tarrin, Allia," she
said. "I've been looking for you."

"Yes, Keeper?" Tarrin asked after he bowed to
her. Allia also bowed, but it was a very stiff one.

"I've been thinking about you two, and I thought
to approach you with an offer."

"Speak on then," Allia said in her calm
voice.

"Neither of you are suited for the chores of a
Novice," she said. "Both of you are warriors. If it does not offend
you, Lady Allia, would you two like to spend your afternoons with the Knights?
Both of you can continue to study the warrior ways, and perhaps our Knights can
learn from you. And maybe you can learn from each other. Tarrin, you are an
adept in the Ways, and Allia, you are an adept in your people's style of
combat."

Allia looked at Tarrin. "I did not know
this," she said. "You know the Northmen's hand-fighting?"

"I am one of them, Allia," he told
her. "Well, I was, and only on my mother's side, but yes, I learned
it."

"Long have I wanted to see if the Northmen were
worth their mettle."

"So the idea pleases you, Allia?" the Keeper
asked.

Allia gave Tarrin a speculative look. "The idea
does please me," she said.

"Good. Oh, just one word of warning. As you can
see, Tarrin isn't human. He's a Were-cat, and if you're not familiar with his
kind, they have magical capabilities. One of them is that their blood and
spittle can change other humans into Were-kin too. We honestly have no idea
what effect it would have on you, Allia, since you are Selani. So you should
exercise a bit of caution. Don't put yourself into a position where his blood
gets into your mouth, and Tarrin, please don't bite her."

"I'd never dream of it, Keeper," Tarrin said
in shock.

"Nothing is without risk," Allia said
philosophically.

"Good," she said. "You may go back to
your exploration now. Have a good day." And then she turned and walked
away.

"You did not tell me you followed the path of
honor," she said, a bit accusingly.

"I don't make much of an issue of it, Allia,"
he told her. "People are afraid enough of me as it is. I don't need for
them to find more reasons to not like me. Oh, and the fact that I can change
people is kind of a secret, Allia. Please don't repeat it."

"It will not pass my lips except when we are
alone," she promised. Then she wiped at an arm. "I am in need of a
sweat tent," she sighed. "I have not cleaned myself in some
time."

"You don't smell it," he said. She gave him
a cool look. "Allia, I'm not human either. My senses are very acute.
Trust me, you do not smell."

"Well, if I must use that bathing pool, then that
is what must be."

Tarrin sensed that she was very uncomfortable with that
notion. "If it doesn't sound too forward, do you want some company?"
he asked.

"Yes, that would please me," she said in a
gratified voice.

He found out why once they reached the baths. Allia
had never in her life been immersed in water that went past her knees. She
was sincerely afraid of the idea of going into the waist-deep water, though she
would die before she admitted it. He also found that, like him, she had
absolutely no fear of appearing in front of others nude. Tarrin found that
quality to be refreshing. She undressed herself boldly before him as he did so
himself, then he lowered himself into the pool and waited for her. She stood
at the lip of the pool hesitantly, looking out over all that water with a bit
of a wild look in her eyes. He stood by the lip right under her and reached up
a paw. "Come on," he said gently. "If you want, I'll teach you
how to swim. The water's not quite deep enough for it, but I can give you an
idea."

She took his paw, and lowered herself into the water.

She still had that wild-eyed look, and she would not
let go of his paw. He winced a bit under her grip. This woman was strong.
He thought that the relaxing heat of the water may loosen her fear somewhat, so
he led her towards the far end, into the hotter water. He was very careful to
stay as close to the lip as possible, to give her something solid to reassure
her. "Let me know if it gets too hot," he told her as they advanced
into the hotter water.

The hot water had its desired effect. The grip on his
paw relaxed, but she still would not let go. He decided not to make an issue
of it. She was doing something that she'd never done before, something that
was new and a bit frightening. "I know it's a strange sensation," he
told her. "Come on, let's go out into the middle. Once you see that
you're not going to go in over your head, I think you'll be alright."

She looked at him intently. Her eyes blazed for just a
moment when she realized he knew she was afraid, but then, curiously, they
softened, then took on an appreciative look. "You are very subtle,"
she said, then she laughed. "Very subtle indeed. Am I so obvious to
you?"

"No, but I could tell that you didn't like the
idea," he told her. "And the grip you had on my paw told me alot
once you got into the water."

She smiled then, a glorious smile that would make any
man's knees weak. "You are quite a man, Tarrin," she said in her
accented voice. "You will bring me much honor in our friendship."

"Well, thank you," he said.

"Now, you may wash my hair," she said in an
imperious voice.

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, reaching for a cake
of soap, right after she let go of his paw.

Allia, Tarrin found, was a very serious, sober woman,
dignified and very much bound to her precepts of honor and propriety. That
wasn't a bad thing, not at all. But, on the other hand, he discovered that,
once you got past that towering barrier of iciness that she put to the human
world, she was a warm, vibrant person with a very rich sense of humor and a
very perceptive view of the world. Tarrin saw alot of Jesmind in her, for they
had the same practical, no-nonsense view of the world, and both had the same
tendancy to speak whatever was on their minds. That told Tarrin that Allia
trusted him, and that pleased him greatly. They talked of unimportant things
during the course of the bath, as he washed her hair, then she unbound his
braid and returned the favor. All in all, he liked Allia very much, even after
only a short time to get to know each other. Much like he and Dar had done,
Tarrin and Allia simply clicked, quickly finding a common ground and using it
to build a friendship.

By the time he helped her from the water, they were
both laughing and carrying on as if they'd known each other all their lives.

There were a couple of frictions, however. The main
one was Dar. Because he was Arkisian, Allia took an immediate dislike to him,
and Dar was instantly afraid of her. That was a wise thing, Tarrin guessed,
and from then on the young man avoided Tarrin like the plague any time he was
with Allia. Tarrin didn't ignore Dar, he just divided his time between his two
friends so that he could spend time with both without leaving out the other.

The next day, Tarrin and Allia walked out onto the
training grounds wearing their practice clothing. For Tarrin, it was his old
leathers. For Allia, it was the same sand-colored baggy clothes which she had
worn the day before. She'd worn Novice clothes that morning, and looked
distinctly uncomfortable in them. She was wearing the trousers rather than a
dress, and when he asked her why, she laughed in his face. "Selani do not
wear such ridiculous things," she told him. "It would tangle my legs
when I fight."

After a quick consultation with each other over the
rules of the sparring match, they faced off to quite a crowd of Knights and
apprentices looking on. They had never seen a Selani face off against an
Ungaardt before. The rules they'd chosen were what Allia called "child's
rules". Tarrin didn't want to hurt her, since he was so much stronger
than she was, so he'd insisted.

What he didn't gamble on was that he had to hit
her in order to hurt her. She was wildly, impossibly fast. He'd never seen anyone
who could move with the blinding speed with which she evaded his attacks.
Tarrin himself was fast, inhumanly fast because of his Were-cat nature, but she
was even faster than him. Tarrin was quickly put on the defensive, using every
block and evade tactic he knew to keep her blurring hands and feet away from
his sensitive parts. The unfamiliarity of his own body worked against him, as
he struggled to work the forms that he knew around his new body, but facing an
opponent like her was no time to experiment, so he simply tried as best he
could to defend himself against her using what he knew and his natural speed
and agility. They helped, but her own speed and agility neutralized that
advantage, and his promise to pull punches eliminated his strength advantage.
With no advantages over her, he was facing someone more adept in her style of
fighting than he was in his, and the pummelling he endured proved it. But,
after a while, he had to concede that he had never been as good as she
was, even when he was human. Allia could give his mother a good fight. He
would have paid money to see them face off against one another.

After about an hour of getting beaten like a dog,
Tarrin started to come to understand her moves, and started anticipating her
attacks. She used set, specific forms, and once he identified them, he could
predict which move she would flow into next. It still didn't help much, for
her speed allowed her to change moves in mid-attack. She beat him almost at
will, punching and kicking him almost anywhere she pleased for that first hour,
until he managed to mount enough of a defense that her attacks could no longer
find him. That look of light amusement dissolved into a set look of
concentration as she had to start working to get past his defenses. She could
still do it, but it wasn't nearly as easy as it had been before.

Tarrin came to understand why the Selani were so deadly
at that point. Had this been a real fight, and had he not been a Were-cat, she
probably would have killed him by now.

"Enough of this play," she said. "Now
we spar for real."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that we do not pull punches," she
said.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"You will not, trust me," she said with a
challenging smile.

"Alright, they're your bones," he shrugged.

One hit was all it took. Tarrin knew that. He had not
used his full strength in their earlier spars. He blocked a side kick with a
forearm with enough power to knock her off balance, and then he put a foot
right in her belly. He did not pull the punch. Allia folded around his foot
and was knocked backwards a few spans, then she sat down heavily on the ground,
wheezing and gasping for breath with both hands to her belly. Tarrin knelt by
her and put a gentle hand to her belly. He didn't feel anything wrong there;
he'd just knocked the wind out of her.

"Goddess!" she said in a choked, breathless
voice. "What did you hit me with?"

"My foot," he said calmly. "I'm alot
stronger than I look, Allia. I tried to warn you."

"So you did," she wheezed. "I will
listen to you next time."

Two instructors and a Sorceress came over. "Are
you alright?" one of them asked.

"I will be in a moment," she said in a
breathless voice. "You pack quite a punch, friend Tarrin."

"Maybe too much of one," the instructor
said. "It will be very hard to train you when you have such a strength
advantage."

"I can be careful," Tarrin said.

"It isn't the same," the man said. "You
have to learn by doing, and doing your best. If you pull punches in training,
you'll not learn as well as you could."

"I think that the Tower has something that could
even things," the Sorceress said. "I'll make a few inquiries. I
believe that we have a magical object that will augment the user's strength.
Would that make it right to train him?"

"Would that give the wearer the same resilience as
Tarrin?" the instructor asked. "Great strength does more than let
you hit hard. It also gives you the ability to absorb blows. It has to be the
same."

"I had never considered that," Allia
confessed, speaking in a more normal voice. "We are a strong people, but
we teach that speed can overwhelm power. Speed is more important than
power."

"I've always believed that you need a balance of
the two," the man told her. "Speed alone and power alone aren't
enough. You need both. You'll find that most of the toughest men are also
among the strongest. You can use that power to defend as easily as to
attack."

"That's what the Ways teach," Tarrin told
him, helping Allia to her feet. She put a hand delicately to her belly, but
said nothing. The Sorceress stepped forward and put her own hand on Allia's
stomach. The Selani looked about ready to kill the woman, but said nothing.
"You've got a very nasty bruise forming here, and that blow injured the
muscles in your abdomen. You're going to be very tender unless you let me heal
this," she said.

"Then do so," Allia said in a calm voice, a
voice that Tarrin could tell was tightly controlled. The Sorceress put her
hand under Allia's baggy shirt, and Tarrin felt that sensation of drawing in
again. Allia sucked in her breath at the icy touch of Sorcerer's Healing.

After that, Tarrin looked up. "It's getting late,
and this is a good place to stop."

"Yes," she said. "I learned much
today. I became overconfident, and I paid the price," she told him,
putting her hand on her stomach. "I underestimated you. Tomorrow I will
not do so again."

Tarrin winced. She'd beaten him almost at will all
day. He'd gotten in that one shot because she didn't know the nature of her
opponent. He had no doubt that she wouldn't approach him the same way again.

"But I am impressed. Your Ungaardt Ways are
effective, but I can tell that you feel uncomfortable with them."

"I wasn't this way when I learned," he told
her. "I'm still getting used to it."

"Yes, that would change things, would it
not?" she observed. "I will train you in the Dance," she said.
"They are more suited for you than your Ways, anyway. And I will teach
you a civilized tongue," she added. "If we are to be friends, then
we should be able to speak in a way that pleases us both."

"I won't mind," he told her.

"My language is not easy to learn," she
warned.

"If we have anything, Allia, it's time," he
said.

"Very well. Then let us begin now. Greetings. Azra
shan."

Tarrin's life settled into a daily routine at that
point, as he became settled into life in the Tower. The trials of the road
faded from his worries, but the ever-present threat of Jesmind never went far
from his mind. In the morning before breakfast, his time was spent with Dar,
as they talked, and dreamed, and did the things that friends did. Tarrin
liked the dark-skinned young man a great deal, for he was witty, friendly, and
was very intelligent and mature for his age. Tarrin had no doubt that Dar
would succeed at whatever he decided to do with his life, because he was so
smart. After breakfast, and for the majority of the day, he belonged to
Allia. Dar didn't seem to mind the Selani monopolizing Tarrin's time, for he'd
listened and understood when Tarrin explained to him that Allia had nobody
else. Dar himself had many other friends among the Novices, but Allia had only
Tarrin. Just like him, the others were afraid of her. They feared her because
she broke one boy's arm for patting her on the backside during dinner. Allia
did not like to be touched by strangers, and much like Tarrin, she was not
afraid to make it well known in any manner she chose.

After lunch, Tarrin and Allia went to the field, to
train. That was, Allia trained Tarrin. She was quite a master of her fighting
art, which she called ji'shen, which meant "the Dance" in the
Selani tongue. They did indeed have an aritfact to even things between them, a
pair of gloves made from a Troll's hide, which granted the wearer the
proportionate strength of a Troll. The gloves smelled absolutely hideous, and
the time he was on the field taught him how to ignore his nose as much as he
learned the flowing, viper-like forms of Allia's fighting style. While they
fought, Allia continued to teach him the words of the Selani tongue. Tarrin
was a very bright young man, but he had a special talent for languages. He
picked up on her native tongue quickly, and she was amazed at how precise his
memory was. She only had to explain something to him once, or tell him the
meaning of a word once, and he remembered it.

After they trained, they both found a way to slip away
before dinner, and they met again in the hidden courtyard in the middle of the
hedge maze. There, she continued teaching him not only her language, but a
very complicated hand-gesture language that her people had created, so that
they could communicate without speaking. It was technically a violation of her
sacred vows to teach him that, she admitted, but she had no doubt that it would
never go past him. She had placed her trust in him, and he in her.

They would then go to dinner, and afterward, they would
retire to the baths. At that time of the evening, they were literally
deserted. It was not even staffed by Novices. Here, his training yet
continued, or they simply talked.

They were there on that rainy summer evening, listening
to the rumbles of thunder that filtered through the thick walls of the Tower.
Tarrin was laying on the stone on his belly, arms folded up under his chin,
eyes closed as he enjoyed a backrub from his companion. The fact that both of
them were nude, and that she was sitting on his backside, never occurred to
either of them.

It was strange, how they had come together, he mused
silently as her delicate yet strong four-fingered hands worked a knot out of
his muscle. They shared a friendship that had become shockingly deep in an
amazing amount of time. Much as he'd started to feel about Jesmind, Tarrin
knew in his heart that he could trust his white-haired friend with absolutely
any secret, and that it would go no further. He had told her secrets, things
that he'd never told another person, not even Dolanna. She was the only living
being aside from himself and Jesmind that knew what had happened between them.
The whole story. He confided his deep-most private self to her, and she helped
him talk out many of the strange impulses and feelings he had from time to
time, which were extensions of the Cat which was inside him.

"Keep your tail still," she chided.

"What?"

"Keep your tail still," she repeated.
"I'm sitting on it, and every time you move it, it presses up
against--"

"Alright," he cut her off, and she laughed
her silvery little laugh. In that respect, she was even worse than Jesmind
ever was. She would talk about things that would make him die of mortification
without so much as batting an eyelash. Where Jesmind would not do it in
public, Allia would. He didn't want to know what his tail was doing,
because she'd give him an explicitly graphic description of the whole thing.
The fact that he was not ashamed of his body, yet he could still be embarassed
by talk, amused her greatly for some reason. "I swear, sometimes you're
worse than a wife," he said.

"We should be married, with what I've let you
touch," she told him in the Selani tongue. Unlike her stiff, formal way
of speaking when she used the human language, her mode of speech in her native
tongue was much more relaxed. Although he didn't have the accent quite down,
and he didn't know all the words, he did speak enough of it to understand her
when she used it.

"You asked for it," he shrugged.

"So I did," she acceded. "But you
really should be careful of your claws. I had trouble sitting down for three
days after that."

"I said I was sorry," he snorted.

"And you think I'll forgive you so quickly? I may
need a favor someday," she teased.

"You could have asked to be healed."

"And how would I explain claw scratches there?"
she asked. "You know they'd start asking questions, Tarrin. What we do
in private is our own affair, and they have no right prying."

"But we don't do anything."

"Precisely," she said.

"Sometimes I don't understand you at all," he
said sourly, putting his head back down.

"Let's just say that I think that if they thought
we were lovers, they would separate us. And I don't think either of us would
permit that." He knew she wouldn't. He was all Allia had here. She
almost clung to him and his friendship, surrounded by people who were either
afraid of her or treated her like a laboratory experiment. Tarrin and Allia
both had to endure endless interruptions from assorted Sorcerers, asking
endless questions. One even asked to take a sample of their blood. The katzh-dashi's
endless quest for knowledge was an admirable trait, but when that endless
part was directed right at him, he found the whole matter to be very annoying.
Tarrin was her only friend, the only person she felt comfortable enough to talk
to. She was acquainted with the Knights on the field, but didn't really
consider them to be friends. Faalken once confided that everyone thought that
she considered herself better than everyone else.

Well, in a way, she did. She had an aire of
superiority about her, that was true, but it was not arrogance, it was more
like a knowledge that she could kick anyone's backside in the Tower without
working up a sweat. Her own people were a very proud race, and they did
consider themselves above the humans. But that was a natural trait; every race
considered itself better than all the others. It was only basic nature.
Tarrin caught himself sighing alot and saying "humans" in that same
condescending tone that Jesmind had used. But she never acted that way to
Tarrin. To her, he was an equal, a comrade, a good friend.

"I've been meaning to ask something," he
said.

"What?"

"Why are there so many different ways to say
'friend' in Selani?" he asked.

"Well," she said, "that is because there
are different levels of honor associated with each," she told him.
"A visitor of another clan who is received with honor is a shih or shai,
depending on if it is male or female." Selani had different forms of
words when addressing women or men. It was the only language Tarrin had heard
of that did that, and that made it very complicated. "A passing
acquaintance in the clan is a shina or shaina. A friend is a shida
or shaida. A very close, dear friend who is not of your own family is a
bashida or bashaida. The closest form of the word is the Brother
in all but Blood, or Sister, depending. That is deshida or deshaida.
It is a serious taboo to use the wrong form."

"Is that so?" he mused. "Well, if we
have to use the term we feel in our hearts, then I must call you deshaida,"
he said.

She was quiet a moment, then he heard her sniffle a
bit. "Tarrin, I am honored," she said in a quiet, emotional voice.
"But if you would be my brother, then you must accept the rites of my
people," she warned in the human tongue, so there would be no mistake of
translation.

He urged her to get off of him, and they sat down by
the water's edge, their feet dangling in the hot water. Tarrin looked at her,
and his eyes never really failed to go her shoulders. On each shoulder, she
carried a single brand. On her uppermost left arm, it was a circle with a line
through it and a crescent just inside the circle and over the line. She said
that the circle and crescent were the symbol of her clan, and the line through
it was the mark that denoted her status as the blood of a clan-chief. On her
uppermost right, she carried a sword-on-spear symbol that she said was the holy
symbol of her Goddess.

"Would you be willing to truly become my brother,
a brother in all but blood?" she asked.

He didn't even have to think about it. "Of course
I would," he told her. "You're very important to me, Allia. You and
Dar are the only things that keep me from going crazy here."

"There is more to it than that," she warned.
"You would be bound under the Oaths. For you, that would mean very little,
for you have no true clan chief. But it would put you somewhat under the
dominion of my Holy Mother Goddess, for you would have to swear an oath to obey
her will."

"What would she want of me?" he asked
curiously.

"I would have to ask her," she said.

Tarrin gaped at her a bit. "You've never told me
you talk to your Goddess," he said.

"Don't you?" she asked, lapsing back into
Selani.

"Not really," he said. "Karas is the
God of the Sulasians, but he's never spoken to me."

"The Holy Mother has a more intimate relationship
with her people that most Gods, deshida," she told him. "If I
pray, she will answer. I must pray and ask her guidance on this. She may not
accept someone not of the Blood."

What startled him was that she clasped her hands together
at her breast and closed her eyes. Obviously, she meant to do it that moment.

Tarrin wondered at her request while she was silent.
Even though it hadn't even been a month, Tarrin already felt that he was that
close to her. She was the older sister he didn't have; to his surprise, he
found out that she was thirty-seven years old. Selani aged at a slower rate
than humans. Among her people, thirty-seven was barely of marrying age. As
long as it didn't mean consigning his soul to an unknown God, he was more than
willing to make her happy by accepting the oaths of her people. Tarrin wasn't
a overly religious person, since neither of his parents were very serious about
it themselves, but he started getting edgy when his soul was in the balance of
things.

After a while, she opened her eyes. "The Holy
Mother will accept you," she said with a smile. "She likes you,
actually," she said with a gentle smile. "She is very thankful to
you for being so good to me. She also said that since I am violating my oaths
in teaching you what you should not know, that you had best be made a brother
of the Blood. She was quite put out with me over that," she said with a
depressed look in her eyes.

"What would she demand of me?"

"Tarrin, the Holy Mother demands nothing of
us," she said gently. "What we do with our lives is our own choice.
That you acknowledge her is enough. The Holy Mother Goddess has no dominion
outside the boundaries of our deserts, so there would be no demands set upon
you. But also that means that she cannot help you."

"I've never had a God help me before," he
shrugged.

From seemingly nowhere, Tarrin almost thought he heard
the impetuous stamp of a foot.

"What was that?" Allia asked curiously.

"Maybe it was thunder," Tarrin said.
"The storm's still going on outside."

"Ah. It is your decision, Tarrin."

"Allia, I've already made up my mind," he
said. "You're already like a sister to me, and I love you as much as my
own family. I would be honored to formalize the relationship."

She smiled broadly at him. "Maybe it was the Holy
Mother's hand that guided me here," she said. "I am now glad beyond
reason that I forced to come into the human lands, else I would never have met
you."

Tarrin reached up and put the palm of his paw against her
cheek, swallowing up the delicate side of her face in his huge paw.

And so Tarrin stumbled into his room late that night,
with his shoulders throbbing, but feeling very good about the whole thing.
Allia never told him that it would be her Holy Mother Goddess herself that
would put the brands on him. She had reached out from wherever it was she was
at and touched him with her power, and that had burned the symbols into his
shoulders just the same way they appeared on Allia. The pain was part of the rite,
an acceptance of the pains and trials that came with adulthood, and he'd been
warned that to scream was unseemly, and that he had to remain still and now
squirm, for the branding was not instantaneous. If one moved or flinched, it
was an evasion of the duties of adulthood, and that person took a bad brand,
and was ridiculed and scorned. Tarrin had a bit of an advantage there, for his
Were-cat nature allowed him to endure quite a bit more pain than a standard
human. He still nearly blacked out though, which, he'd discovered, was an
honorable thing. Blacking out was not in his control, and it proved that the
person being branded was strong enough to hold still even under such intense
pain. People who blacked out, curiously, did not take a bad brand, even though
they did move. Tarrin suspected that the Holy Mother Goddess had a great deal
to do with that.

Tarrin just worried that his regeneration would heal
over the charred burn marks.

"You're in late," Dar noted as he turned to
look at Tarrin from the writing desk.

Tarrin hunched over a bit, his tail drooping. Even
putting himself in the water of the bathing pool hadn't eased the residual pain
after the branding.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Allia branded me," he said shortly.

"What?"

"She asked me to become her brother, and I said
yes. The brands were so that could happen. I couldn't be her brother until I
was seen as an adult in the eyes of her people, and that meant I had to be
branded. It meant alot to her, and to me."

"You take friendship seriously," Dar said,
getting up. "I'll go steal some ice from the cold room," he
offered. "That should take most of the bite out of it."

"I appreciate it," he said gratefully.

He returned a bit later with a small bowl of ice, which
was wrapped into a kerchief and applied to one shoulder at a time. The ice
blissfully numbed his throbbing skin, and he leaned back on his bed, back
against the wall, sighing in almost ecstatic relief.

"That must have really hurt," Dar said.

"It was worth it," Tarrin said. "I
can't even begin to explain the relationship I have with Allia, Dar. It goes
way beyond simple friendship. I've never had so deep a connection with
anyone. We love each other about as much as two people can who aren't
married."

"Well, so long as it makes you happy, then I say
congratulations," he said with a smile.

"It's not like we're betrothed, Dar," Tarrin
chuckled.

"I know," he said. "But in its own way,
it's just as profound, I think."

"More or less, yes," he agreed. "I did
more than profess love for her. I promised to be like her own brother in every
way. And family can be just as close as married couples."

"And in such a short time," he said.
"What will your mother say?"

Tarrin gave him a look, then laughed. "We said
the same thing," he admitted. "We don't understand why we took to
each other so quickly either. Maybe it was fate."

"I don't believe in fate," Dar said with a
smile. "It may have been the Gods."

"I doubt that," Tarrin chuckled. "Like
me being friends with Allia was so important that it was demanded by the Gods.
Get real."

Again there was that same sound, like the stamping of a
foot. Tarrin sat up and looked around, and so did Dar. "See?" he
said after a moment. "One of them is talking to us now."

Tarrin gave Dar a look, then he laughed again.
"Give one knock for no, two knocks for yes," Tarrin said in a spooky,
melodramatic voice. He shifted the ice against his shoulder, wincing.
"These should be healed by tomorrow," he said. "I really
hope that the brands don't heal over. I don't like the idea of being
charbroiled every time Allia wants to prove to someone I'm an adult."

"At least you'd get used to it," Dar grinned.

"Not that, I won't," he grunted. "I've
never felt pain like that before in my life. Not even my transformation into
this shape was half as painful, and that was so painful I blocked most of the
memory of it from my mind."

"That may be why the brands seem to be more
painful," Dar said with surprising insight.

"Perhaps," he said, putting the melting ice
in the wet kerchief back in the little bowl. "In any case, I'm tired,
and I think I'll go to sleep."

"I'll turn down the lights."

"Don't bother. I want to sleep the other way
tonight, and the light won't bother me at all."

Tarrin had an ulterior motive, of course. He didn't
know if he'd have the same pain in the cat shape, and he was willing to try it
and see. He undressed and changed form quickly, and, to his dismay, he
discovered that the pain was just as present. He hobbled a bit, for he now had
to support his weight on the branded limbs, but managed to curl up in a dark
place under his bed and go to sleep.

Wake up, something seemed to whisper to him. You
have to wake up.

Tarrin opened his eyes. It was dark in the room, and the
sounds of Dar's breathing told him that his friend was sleeping. That was the
only sound he heard. From outside the door, he could hear faint scraping
noises, and then the sounds of a man breathing. Breathing that was a bit fast,
Tarrin noted as he got up and padded out from under the bed, the pain in his
forelimbs more or less shunted aside. He sat beside the door and hunkered
down, smelling at the air drifting in from the other side. There were two
human smells, both human men that smelled slightly of ale and prostitutes. And
Tarrin could smell clearly the presence of steel, and of one other metal that
took him a moment to identify.

Silver. The only non-magical substance other than fire
or acid that could do him real injury.

His ears laying back, Tarrin listened intently as the
two began to whisper.

"Is this the right room?" one asked.

"I'z be certain o' that," the other whispered
back in a bizarre accent Tarrin had never heard before. "This'n be the
right room, rightly so. Remember now, we'z can't kill the critter with nothing
but this here sword," he instructed his companion. "It don't like
silver, none at all. Now you'z be getting that magic trinket out and ready,
so's the critter don't be a' hearin' us open the door. The boss done say that
if we wake it up, it'll right fast send parts of us'n all over the room."

Tarrin changed form silently, his eyes flat and his
ears laid back. They were here to kill him. But they didn't know that he was
already awake. The thought that they were there to try to kill him filled
Tarrin with a sudden rage, a rage that he fought desperately to control. For
the first time in a very long time, the Cat in him rose up and tried to take
control. He knew it was futile to try to outright resist it, for when it was
his life in jeopardy the Cat called in a voice too powerful to deny. He had to
try to channel the rage, focus it, to keep from totally snapping and going into
a berzerking rage that would put innocents in danger.

"Are you's ready with the trinket?" the man
whispered. Tarrin's sensitive ears pinpointed exactly where that voice had
come from. And that was the man with the silver weapon, the weapon that
represent the threat to his life.

Tarrin took stock in the door, measuring it carefully.
Then he balled up a fist, reared back, and punched his paw through the
door.

His paw opened the instant it was through, and his aim
had been true, for the palm of his paw came into contact with a nose. His
fingers closed around that head, wrapping more than well enough around it to
get an unbreakable grip, and then he yanked the man back through the door.
Tarrin noted that where his hand going through the door curiously made no noise
at all, there was a sudden, loud tearing snap as the door was shattered from
the force of Tarrin's pull, a sound accentuated by the shriek of the man in
Tarrin's clutches. It was a small man, thin and wiry, wearing dirty townsman's
clothing and with a silvered sword in his hand. The sight and smell of that
weapon made Tarrin's eyes go totally flat.

Grabbing hold of his wrist with his other paw, Tarrin
closed his fist.

The man's scream was cut off with horrifying
abruptness, for he had no mouth with which to use, and no brain with which to
direct the mouth that was not there. Tarrin's fingers drove into the skull and
the brain, his inhuman strength digging down and under and then crushing
everything that had been below the man's forehead, shattering bone and
liquifying flesh. Blood and worse spurted out from between Tarrin's fingers as
his fingers closed inside the man's head, literally tearing off the man's
face. The other man looked into the door in shock as the dead man fell away
from Tarrin, a hideous gaping hole where the front of his head had been, and
blood and bits of flesh dripped and oozed from between Tarrin' fingers as he
watched the body fall to the floor.

The man shrieked in abject horror and turned to flee,
but Tarrin was on him before he could take a single step. He tackled the man
and sent him sprawling to the floor, quickly getting on top of him and putting
a paw on his chest to hold him down, and then opening his other paw, allowing
what was left of the other man's face to drop from his grip. The man stared in
desperate terror at the bloody paw raised over his head, claws out, with bits
of flesh, bone, and brain dangling from the fur and from the claws. Tarrin's
eyes glowed from within with an unholy greenish radiance that made the man
squeak once he beheld them, and his face was twisted into a snarl of fury that
almost made him like a raging beast. Tarrin very nearly killed him out of
rage, but he managed to maintain at least some semblence of sanity. This man
had been hired to kill him. Tarrin wanted to know who had done it. "Who
sent you?" Tarrin asked in a hissing voice that made the man go very
still. "Who sent you?"

"I-I can't say!" he wailed. "They'll
kill me!"

"If you don't, I'll make you beg to die,"
Tarrin told him in a voice so evil that the man tried to sink through the floor
to get away from him. "I'll gut you like a pig and drag you around by
your entrails until you feel like talking." Tarrin lowered his paw,
driving the tips of his claws into the skin of the man's belly. He squealed
and writhed, then screamed in pain as Tarrin sank a bit more of his claws into
the man's flesh.

The man bellowed as Tarrin slowly twisted his paw,
digging the claws in deeper. "It was a Wizard!" he said in a
high-pitched voice. "I don't know his name! Belleth knew it!"
Tarrin twisted his claws. "Kravon!" he shrieked. "I work for
Kravon!"

Then Tarrin felt a coldness at his back. He turned
around, ignoring the many Novices that had opened their doors to see what the
commotion was about. The shadows behind him seemed to coalesce, and then two
slits of pure green radiance appeared. The unearthly cold told him all he
needed to know.

It was a Wraith.

The man looked over Tarrin's hip at the apparition, and
then he screamed a scream of such terror that it chilled Tarrin's blood. He
did himself grievous injury as he suddenly thrashed against the Were-cat, whose
claws were still sunk in his belly, but in his wild panic he felt not a whit of
pain. The Wraith advanced with shocking speed on them and reached out. Tarrin
knew that the touch of a Wraith was the cold of the grave, and it meant death.
Even in his rage, he was still lucid enough to know when to bolt. He sprang
away from the conjured creature, trampling the man under him in his flight.
The man, bleeding freely from his ripped stomach, stared at the Wraith in
terror, his body paralyzed by fear, watching that insubstantial hand.

Even as it sank into his chest.

The man made a single gurgling sound and arched his
back, and then he moved no more. He remained in that hideously twisted
position even after the Wraith withdrew its hand from his chest. The Wraith
took one look at Tarrin, and then it simply vanished.

Control returning to him, Tarrin and a few other
Novices warily approached the dead man as others screamed hysterically, and
more than one Novice cried out or was noisily sick. The man's skin was blue,
and the eyes were open and glazed.

The man's body was frozen solid.

Tarrin shivered when he felt the cold radiating from
the frozen corpse, then he heard Dar moan and start retching. Tarrin had not
left the other one in very presentable condition. Elsa charged out of her door
wearing only a nightshirt and brandishing her axe, then stopped when she saw
the nude Were-cat standing over the frozen corpse. "What happened?"
she demanded hotly.

"This one and the one in my room tried to kill
me," Tarrin said in a cold fury, panting to keep control of himself. The
Cat was howling for blood, and it wanted to punish the ones who had dared try
to take his life. It just wanted to destroy things at the moment, to vent its
rage on whatever was handy, but Tarrin's rational mind wouldn't allow that.
Such a mindless display of violence would solve nothing. But it still wasn't
easy.

Elsa glanced into his room, which now had no door. She
shivered a bit. "What did you do to him?" she asked, then she
glanced at the blood and flesh still hanging from Tarrin's right paw.
"Nevermind, I think I know," she said in a bit of a weak voice.
"Tarrin, go down to the baths and wash off all that blood. Take Dar with
you."

"Alright," he said tightly. Dar still
coughed a great deal as they left for the baths, Tarrin stalking the halls
unclad in a fury as Dar followed behind carrying Tarrin's robe. Down in the
bathing chamber, Tarrin dropped into the pool and started cleaning off his arms
and paws. He was a bit surprised at the amount of blood he had on him; it was
even spattered on his face and chest, and smeared over his torso. He'd stepped
through a pool of it, and bloody footprints. Dar sat on a chair with his head
in his hands, leaned over and still coughing a bit here and there.

"Are you alright?" Tarrin asked as he climbed
out of the pool.

"Yeah," he said weakly. "Just imagine
waking up to see something like that," he said with a weak
chuckle. "I don't think I'll ever eat meat again."

"Sorry, but he tried to kill me," Tarrin
said. "And I doubt they would have left you alive either."

"I know," he said. "But why did you
have to--do that?"

"It seemed appropriate at the time," he
said. "I didn't even think about it."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dar," he said. "I thought I
was dead when I saw that Wraith. I'm just lucky it wasn't after me."

"What does that mean?"

"Wraiths are conjured up for a specific
purpose," Tarrin told him, repeating what Dolanna had told him so long
ago. "That's all they'll do, what they were conjured to do. That one
was conjured to kill that man before I could get him to talk," he said
with a growl. "All I got was--"

Tarrin's heart seized in his chest when a faint trace
of an old scent touched his nose. He bowed down and sniffed delicately at the
stone, trying to block out the strong smells of the mineral-rich water. The
scent of her passage was still on the stones. Jesmind had been in the bathing
chamber. A whirlwind of conflicting emotion welled up in him at that scent,
and most primary of them all was fear. He feared Jesmind more than anything
else in the world, because he knew, beyond any doubt, that she was there to
kill him. And unlike most in the Tower, she was very capable of doing it. It
was almost an ironic twist that she would show up so soon after he'd nearly
been killed. It was like an omen.

"Dar," he said in a hushed voice.

"What?"

"Get up. We have to get out of here."

Dar looked around. "What's wrong?"

"Jesmind is here," he said in a quiet,
forboding voice. "We have to get back to where there's people."

Dar scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting in all
directions, handing Tarrin the robe and rushing after him as Tarrin made
quickly for the stairs. They mounted the base of the staircase, but Tarrin
stopped dead when a silhouette came around a corner and stood at the top. A
silhouette with a tail. His heart froze in his chest, and then it was replaced
with a calm, almost unemotional void. He had nowhere to run, and that meant
that he would have to fight.

She came down step by step, slowly coming into the
light. She was wearing the same white tunic and canvas breeches, which were a
bit frayed and torn, but they were clean, just like her. Her eyes were glowing
from within with that greenish aura, two slits of pure evil in the shadows,
which were a clear indication of her fury. "It's been a very long time,
Tarrin," she said in a deceptively mild voice.

"Not long enough," Tarrin growled, his ears
laying back and his own eyes igniting from within.

"I hope you enjoyed your time here," she
said, her claws coming out, "because you're out of it!"

And with that, she dove off the steps and slammed
shoulder first into the startled Tarrin's chest, driving them both back down
the stairs.

Both of them were Were-cat, and they both had the same
abilities. Tarrin and Jesmind both knew exactly where they were in relation to
the ground, and the stairs, so while they tumbled down they both fought to put
the other under when they hit the bottom. Tarrin lost that fight, coming down
right on the back of his head, but he almost instinctively kicked up and out as
hard as he could. With his back on the floor, it gave him a brace, and Jesmind
was hurled up and over his head. He rolled to his feet as she tucked in
midair, tumbling end over end several times before lightly landing on her feet
some distance away. Tarrin had time to rip the rope holding the robe closed
and yank it off before she got set again, shedding the constricting garment and
not giving her anything to grab onto except his hair. He flung that robe in
her face as she lunged at him, covering her head and upper torso, then he
ducked down and let her sail past him. Her tail hooked his ankle as she
passed, and it almost yanked his leg out from under him. He managed to keep
his feet, but it instantly stopped her forward momentum, putting her in claw's
reach of him. Even without seeing, she raked her wicked claws right across his
chest, digging extremely deep furrows into him, furrows that went all the way
to the bone. Had she hit him lower, he realized instantaneously, she'd have
disemboweled him.

The pain was serious, but not more than he could
withstand. He grabbed hold of her wrist before it could get out of reach, then
reared back and slammed the sole of his foot into her cloak-clad head, yanking
on her arm in the same instant to increase the force of it. She grunted in
pain, and that turned to a yowl when Tarrin kept his foot up and pushed against
her head as his grip on her arm pulled her into it, trying to break her neck.
Her tail lashed around and up, right between the legs, sending a white-hot
flash of excrutiating pain through him. He instantly let go of her, stumbling
backwards against a chair as she stumbled back a few paces herself, tearing the
robe from her face. Tarrin saw her eyes go completely wild, and she shrieked
at him incoherently as she rushed forward. She'd lost control of herself,
entering the rage that Tarrin had felt on the edges of his own consciousness
many times, a rage that had suddenly boiled up in him in response to her own.
Tarrin lost himself to the rage, and met the beast in her face to face.

Beast to beast.

Dar knew he should go for help, but for a moment, he
was so horrified by what he saw that he couldn't move. Tarrin and that woman
were, quite simply, ripping each other to pieces. There was a look of the
most terrifying mindless fury on both of them, and they dealt each other the
most grievous wounds with absolutely no regard for their own lives. He'd never
seen such a display of sheer animalistic mindlessness in his entire life. They
were on the floor, clawing, gouging, and even biting each other in an elemental
display of abject fury, rolling to and fro and smashing chairs. The floor was
quickly smeared and spattered with blood and bits of flesh and torn clothing,
and huge patches of bare muscle and bone began to show on each of them. What
was even worse, Dar could see that those hideous wounds were slowly closing
themselves. They were both regenerating their wounds, and Dar almost got sick
when he realized that the winner would be the one that could withstand more raw
punishment than the other, which could keep up the healing even as the other sought
to rip the flesh from the bones. It was a war of attrition, and Dar shuddered
to think of the pain that either of them were feeling.

They rolled over the edge of the pool and fell in, and
Dar's paralysis vanished as they did. Blinking, he rushed up the stairs,
hoping beyond hope that Tarrin was still alive when he returned.

Tarrin managed to regain some part of himself at the
shocking touch of the water. He kicked Jesmind away, put his feet under him,
and kicked off the bottom, sending him out of the water like a sling bullet
from a sling, catapulting him back up to the pool's edge. He was torn and
beaten, and many of his muscles had been severed. His right arm hung limply at
his side, the muscles used to move it ripped apart by Jesmind's claws. The
pain was there, but it was a dull thing, something that festered at the back of
his mind rather than dominating his every thought. She wasn't half as hurt as
he was. She was much deadlier in a mindless rage than he, falling back on
instincts that had kept her alive for five hundred years. He could not match
her sheer brutality or mindless resistance to pain

Jesmind climbed out of the pool slowly. Her tail was
missing more than half its length, which floated in the pool, and most of her
left calf had been raked away by Tarrin's feet. She'd lost every bit of
clothing, shredded in their brief savagery, but the look of mindless rage was
still stamped onto her face. He knew that if he lost control again, she would
kill him. She was more suited to it than he. He focused his rage, focused it
into what he'd learned, what he knew. He'd met her on her own battlefield, and
he had paid the price. Now he had to make her fight on his. She lunged at
him, but he spun away, sliding just out of reach of her claws, bending like a
blade of grass in the wind. He then then elbowed her in the back with his good
arm, a move that was part of ji'shen, then kneed her in the side, which
was a move in the Ways. They fell apart for a second, as Jesmind gasped for
breath, then she turned around and rushed him again, straight ahead, uncaring
about any defense he may erect.

It was almost too easy. Tarrin turned partially aside,
as if to flee, then he pivoted and brought his right leg up, folded it around
his knee as his back came to her, and kicked absolutely straight up, performing
a standing split. The ball of his foot struck Jesmind right under the chin,
the claws of his feet punching three holes in the base of her jaw. Her head
snapped back audibly, and the raw force of the blow knocked her into the air.
She made no attempt to right herself and land on her feet, coming down right on
the base of her neck instead. She crumpled in on herself like a rag doll, and
when she settled to the floor, she did not move.

Tarrin wilted, almost falling down, as the blinding
pain of too many wounds to count suddenly screamed at him all at once. He'd
survived by the skin of his teeth, and he looked it. The skin of his teeth was
about all he had left. He limped over to her and rolled her over with a foot.
She was unconscious, bleeding from her many wounds, wounds that were closing
even as he watched. He mused at that; he thought that, since they were both
magical creatures, that they would deal real damage to one another. It was a
good thing they did not, for he'd have been dead in the first few seconds had
that been true. Her face, wet from the pool, was untouched, aside from the
three puncture wounds under her jaw, and the blood had been washed from it by
their bath. Just looking at her reminded him how beautiful she was, and he
knew that he just couldn't kill her. Not now, not ever. Regardless of how she
felt about him, he didn't hate her. And he wouldn't kill her.

He knelt by her, checking her pulse to make sure it was
strong, then he smoothed the wet red hair back from her face. "Why do you
have to be so damned stubborn?" he asked her weakly. Then he bent down
and kissed her lightly on the lips. "If you'd just wait a while, you
stubborn witch, I'd go with you." He stood up. "But it's too late
for that now, I guess. I hope you're happy with your decison. If you'd have
waited, or came here with me, I wouldn't have ran away."

He turned around. "Goodbye, Jesmind. Have a nice
life." Then he hobbled away from her.

As soon as he'd gone far enough up the steps, Jesmind
opened her eyes. They were lucid, calm, even mischievous, and she smiled a
victorious little smile. But then that light look hardened over into one of
firm resolve, and she shook her head as if to clear her mind of unwanted
thoughts. She waited until the sound of his passage were too faint to detect,
then she scrambled to her feet and darted up the steps, making less sound than
a ghost.

Tarrin was met in the hallways by three Sorcerers as he
hobbled back towards the Novice's quarters, two men he did not know, and the
red-haired Ahiriya, who were rushing towards the baths. She was in the
forefront, and she took only one look at him with those penetrating eyes.
"Did you kill her?" she asked.

"Hardly," Tarrin said a bit weakly. He
hadn't completely healed from the grievous injuries he'd suffered at Jesmind's
hands. "It was all I could do to get away."

Ahiriya put her hands on his shoulders, and the icy
sensation of Sorcerer's Healing rushed through him, putting him up on his toes
as his blood seemed to turn to ice. The other two Sorcerers obeyed Ahiriya's
short command to search the baths, rushing away quickly. When that icy rush
faded, it took the pain along with it. Tarrin staggered back and away from
her, his strength, taxed by her healing, flowing back into him. Unlike a
Priest's healing, a Sorcerer's healing took some energy away from the person
being healed, using it to heal the recipient, and that always left Tarrin
feeling slightly drained.

"Your things have been moved to another
room," she said. "That boy who rooms with you demanded to be put in
the same room with you," she chuckled. "He's got guts, I'll give him
that. Let's get you a robe or something to wear, and we'll take you to your
new room."

That touched Tarrin. Despite the obvious danger, Dar
was going to stay roommates with him.

The room Tarrin was led to was on the second level, not
far from the room that Allia held alone, and it was at the very end of a
hallway. The fact that there were two mailed guards standing at the entrance
to that hall, quite a distance down, was not lost on him. Even though there
were a goodly distance away, they defended the only way in or out, and thus
stopped anyone from getting so close to him again.

The room was absolutely identical to the room he'd had
below. Dar was there, busily putting up his art back on the walls, and the
young man gave Tarrin a look of profound relief as he entered. Tarrin put his
paws on the Novice's shoulders wordlessly. "Are you alright? Did you
kill her? What happened?"

"I'm fine, no, she's not dead, and we fought for a
while before I got in a lucky kick," he said with a gentle smile. "I
also have a name, Dar. That man gave me a name before the Wraith killed him.
That may be why the Wraith killed him."

"What name?"

"Kravon."

Dar gasped slightly. "The Kravon?" he
said in shock.

"Who is he?"

"He's a renegade," he said as Tarrin let go
of him and took of the too-small robe that had been found for him. His
belongings were in the chest--they'd done nothing but move the whole chest.
"I heard about him from my parents. He's a Wizard, and he supposedly
leads a group of other Wizards who go around stealing magical artifacts. My
father said there's more to it than that, though. He said that they're trying
to do something."

"Why would he want to kill me?" Tarrin asked
himself. "I'm nobody."

"Maybe it's not who you are," Dar said.
"Maybe it's what you are."

"No, why kill me because I'm a Were-cat when he sent
the Were-cat that changed me?" he countered. "He was at it before
that happened anyway." He pulled on a new pair of trousers and pulled out
a shirt. The door opened abruptly, and Tarrin and Dar were staring the Keeper
right in the face. They both stood and bowed awkwardly, Tarrin hastily
throwing his shirt on afterward.

"I see you're alright," she said.

"Well enough, Keeper," he said.

"What happened?"

"Two men tried to kill me in my sleep, then
Jesmind took advantage of the confusion and attacked me when I went to the
baths to clean up," he told her plainly. "One of the men gave me a
name before he died," he told her triumphantly. "He said he works
for Kravon."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing about
it. Tarrin seemed to understand in that instant that there was an awful lot
that the Keeper knew, things that would answer all of the questions that he
had, and that she simply was not going to tell him. She knew why they were
trying to kill him. She knew who was trying to kill him too, he was
certain of it. He also came to understand in that instant that she wanted
something from him. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He was here
specifically because they wanted something. And that made him nervous.

"I'll have someone look into it," she said
shortly. "We can't find Jesmind, but that won't be like that for
long."

"You'll never catch her, Keeper," he told
her.

Her eyes seem to flash momentarily. "You have a
low opinion of us, boy," she said in a steely tone.

"No ma'am, I just know Jesmind. She could hide in
plain sight so well you'd step on her. She hid from all of us from the day
after she bit me to the day we met in the forest, and that was no mean feat.
Trust me, Keeper, you won't find her. Don't even bother."

"I'll have it done anyway," she said.
"It amuses me."

"As you will, Keeper."

"Well, things will get back to normal around here
now," she said. "I've put men at the entrance to this hallway to
prevent any more midnight guests, so it shouldn't happen again."

"Thank you, Keeper," he said politely.

"You two try to get some sleep," she said,
then she turned and walked out without another word.

"That was strange," Dar said.

Tarrin looked at the door with his eyes narrowed. The
first stirrings of mistrust were coming to life inside him. Things were not as
they appeared here in the Tower. And he meant to find out what was going on.

The next attempt on his life came the very next day,
and his wariness from the previous night had been what saved his life. Tarrin
and Allia were out on the field, practicing, when the fur on the back of his
ears stood up. In that absolute instant, he knew something was wrong. He
lunged forward and drove Allia to the ground, even as something buzzed
spitefully over his head. There was a cry of pain seconds after than, and the
sound of someone falling. Then it was chaos. Tarrin looked up, and saw that
one of the students, laying on the ground near them, had a crossbow quarrel
through his neck. His eyes were already vacant and glazed. Had that bolt hit
him, it would have hit him right between the shoulder blades.

"Spread out and capture anyone with a
crossbow!" Valden, one of the Knight instructors, bellowed instantly. One
of the attending Sorcerers rushed forward, but he could see that he was too
late. So he closed the boy's eyes, then pulled out the quarrel.

It was tipped with silver.

"That was meant for you," Allia said grimly.

"I know," Tarrin replied quietly. This young
man was totally innocent, a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong
time. That was one more thing he was going to flay from the hide of whoever
ordered the attack. His eyes went flat, and his ears laid back. "And I'm
going to find who shot it."

"I'll come with you," she said, and they got
up and darted away.

It took a bit of doing to get them to let Tarrin have
the crossbow. It was found between two buildings, in a narrow alley, and
Tarrin more or less threatened to maim anyone that wouldn't let him hold it.
Tarrin put the stock near his nose, ignoring the scents all around him as he
locked in on the scent of the man that had held it, and had shot it at him.
Once he had it, he checked in the alley and found the scent trail. Five
Knights, including Valden and Faalken, hurried along after Tarrin and Allia as
Tarrin followed the man's trail. It played out, though, when it got onto the
road that led to the main gate of the compound, and then outside.

"You there!" Faalken boomed at the gate
guards. "Who's gone through here in the last hour?"

"It had to be someone walking," Tarrin said.
"I can still smell his scent. He walked through the gate."

"Who's walked out of here?"

"Just two troops of guards and one visitor,"
the man said. "It was a woman and her two bodyguards."

They looked at Tarrin, who shrugged. "Don't look
at me," he said. "I just know it was a human man."

"It could have been any of them," Allia
said. "Even one of the guards, or perhaps a man in a guard's
uniform."

"Maybe," Faalken grunted.

"This isn't the place to discuss it," Valden
said. "This place is in crossbow range of any of those buildings across
the street."

Tarrin swept his eyes across the area beyond the
fence. "Good point," Faalken agreed. "Let's get Tarrin back to
the barracks."

Valden was one of the older knights, a gruff,
no-nonsense kind of man that seemed to have absolutely no sense of humor
whatsoever. He was held in very high regard among the Knights, though, because
he was extraordinarily good at the small details that made a successful
campaign, and he was a fearsome fighter. He was the most practical, sober man Tarrin
had ever seen. Valden led them as the five Knights formed a defenseive
perimeter around Tarrin, putting their steel armor in the way of another
quarrel. Tarrin watched with an alert wariness, taking in and analyzing every
sight and sound and smell for possible threat. They reached the barracks that
served as the cadets' quarters. "We've got to tell the Keeper about
this," Faalken said. "Someone is going to an awful lot of trouble to
kill you, Tarrin. They've been trying since the day we left Aldreth, and
they're not afraid to come into the Tower to do it, either."

"What can she do?" one of the other Knights,
a hulking man named Umber, asked.

"We'll seal the compound if that's what it
takes," Valden said in his no-nonsense voice. "These people have to
be coming in from the outside. If they can't get in, they can't try to kill
anyone."

"You can't get in here without--"
Umber said, then he blanched a bit.

"That's possible," Valden said grimly.

"What?" Allia asked.

"That someone from the inside is bringing them
in," Valden explained. "Nobody can come onto the Tower grounds
without an invitation or a summons. For them to get in, someone has to be
inviting them in."

"Maybe they just snuck in," Tarrin said.
"I've done it. This place isn't as secure as you may think."

"You have certain racial advantages, Tarrin,"
Valden. "It'd take a man pole-vaulting to get over the fence without
touching it. Not many people know how to do that. And you can't touch the
fence, else you're stuck fast to it until a Sorcerer weaves a spell to release
you."

"They must get tired of going out there to release
the birds," Tarrin noted.

"It doesn't trap animals," Valden said
absently. "It only--" He swore. "Garen, go find out if the
fence works on Wikuni."

Faalken's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"But it was a human scent I smelled," Tarrin
told them.

"Yes, but let's close that door before they find
it open," Valden said. "I don't know how the fence works exactly.
Since it doesn't trap animals, it may only trap humans. And that means that
anyone else can climb it as they please." He pursed his lips.
"There's really not much we can do at this point but alert the Keeper and
have her take steps," he said. "There's no way to find out who
brought the assassin onto the grounds."

"Well, until we talk to the Keeper, not much else
can be done," Valden said. "Tarrin, go back to the Tower, and stay
indoors. I suggest you stay in a public area as well. Try to keep people
around you."

"Alright," he said. Tarrin was starting to
get annoyed. That he had a name seemed to be something a step in the right
direction, but he had nowhere to take it, and so long as he was in the Tower,
he had no means to search it out. Tarrin didn't like being the target of
someone's homicidal tendencies; at least someone he didn't know. Jesmind, he
could understand, and he had hopes that the two of them could settle their
differences peacefully. But this mystery man Kravon was an unknown, a stranger,
and he had no idea how to make him stop other than to kill him. But he didn't
know who he was. That was the problem.

If he only knew why they were after him, at
least then he'd have some idea of what to do, how to make them stop. He was
floundering around in a sea of possibilities, and it was a long way to shore.
He couldn't think of anything he'd done to offend someone to the point where
they would have him killed. It was maddening.

He sat in his room for quite a while pondering it, then
finally gave up in disgust. Allia was meditating in her room, a private time
that she needed to herself, so he decided to read a book until she came for
him.

The door opened, and the Keeper entered his room.
Tarrin stood hastily and bowed to her.

"I was told what happened," she said.
"It won't happen again, I can assure you of that," she said in a
flinty voice. "I'm having the compound searched at this very moment, and
no visitor may enter armed from this day forward."

"That's all well and good, but that doesn't tell
me anything," he said pointedly. "Why are they trying to kill me,
Keeper? They've been trying for a very long time now. They must have a
reason."

She looked him in the eye, but said nothing.
"Don't concern yourself with it, Tarrin. You're under our protection, and
we're going to protect you. Oh, I've received word that your parents and your
sister are on the way here," she said.

That managed to sidetrack his anger. "They're
coming here?" he said, his heart both leaping in his chest and sinking
into his gut at the same time. He so desperately wanted to see them, but an
irrational fear of how they would react to his new shape almost gave him the
panics. If they rejected him, it may be more than he could bear. He knew his
parents; he doubted they would do such a thing, but a part of his mind simply
wouldn't stop thinking about it.

She nodded. "I got word yesterday that they were
at Marta's Ford. By now, they are halfway to Ultern. They should be here by
the Midsummer Festival."

"I can't wait to see them," he blurted.

"You'll have to wait until they arrive," she
said with a smile and a wink. "The teachers tell me that you're doing
well," she said, changing the subject. "Keep up the good work,
Tarrin. Now, I must be off. Take care of yourself."

And then she left, leaving him somewhat giddy at the
thought of his family coming to see him.

The door opened again. "Was that the Keeper I
just saw?" Allia asked.

"It was," he replied. "My family is
coming to the Tower to visit me," he told her.

"That is good news," she smiled.

"I hope so," he said. "If they see me
like this and scream and run away, I think I'll kill myself."

"Do not get worked up over it," she said,
patting him on the shoulder. "You are their son, and they love you for
who you are, not how you look."

"I hope so," he sighed.

"Come, let us go someplace quiet, so that you may
practice."

"Not the garden," he said. "There are
people watching me right now, I think. If I disappear in there, they may send
people in to find us."

"Then we will not practice the hand-language
today," she said. "Let us simply talk. You need to work the edge
off of your accent."

"I can speak the language almost as well as you
can," he said tartly, in Selani.

"Maybe, but if you're going to do something, do it
right," she shrugged, speaking in Selani as well. "You don't sound
Selani, and that's what matters."

"Whatever," he said. "We need to talk
anyway. Let's go out and walk around the outer garden a while. I have some
things to tell you."

"Alright."

Outside, they walked the paved paths along the gardens,
and Tarrin noticed that they were a bit busier than usual. More than one
Sorcerer, and more than one guard, walked along the paths. At least two kept
him in sight at all times. He was definitely right about that. "Allia,
they want something from me," he told her in Selani.

"What?"

"I don't know, yet," he said. "I looked
into the Keeper's eyes today, and I could see things there. She knows who's
trying to kill me, and why. But she won't tell me who it is or why they're
doing it. And they want something."

"Well, since you're not dead, they obviously don't
want your body," she said. "They're going to teach you magic, and
they've been having me train you to fight. That means that it's not you they
want. Perhaps they want something that you can do for them."

"You said a Sorcerer came and asked for you,
right?" She nodded. "Well, it seems I'm not the only one they
want."

"Maybe they asked for me because of what I could
teach you," she said.

"They had to do that long before they ever
knew of me," he protested. "You know how long it takes to get to the
desert from Suld?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she said
primly. "And you're right. They had to send that Sorcerer months before
I left my people, and we've been here only about three months."

"And I was still human at that time," he
added. "Maybe they wanted you," he said, "and since I'm
here, they decided I'd do a better job of it. Whatever it is."

"It's all just sand blowing in the wind," she
sighed, bending down to look at a particularly lovely rose. "We can't
prove anything."

"Maybe not, but I can start looking for
answers," he said.

"How so?"

"I'm a Were-cat, dear one," he said with a
smile. "I can go places that humans wouldn't even dream about."

Her look sobered instantly. "What you're thinking
about is one step from suicide," she warned. "The Keeper is a
Sorcerer. I'll guarantee that she and her office have magical
protection."

"Hmm," he said, rubbing his chin with the
side of a finger. "You're right. But Tiella cleans the Keeper's office.
I think I'll ask her to start remembering any scrap notes she happens to see.
Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Just be careful, deshida," she
warned.

"I will," he promised.

It was a large problem, but the thought of his family
coming quickly drowned out such heavy thoughts, and replaced them with a
mixture of joy and terror that put him on edge for several days, and put him so
out of sorts he did not one thing to start unraveling the veil of mystery
surrounding his place in the Tower. He wanted desperately to see his parents,
his sister, to put himself in the arms of his mother and father and know that
they would accept him as he was. But the very thought that they would reject
him made his heart lurch. He'd had a nightmare that made him sleepless for
three days, a nightmare that his mother looked on him for the first time, and a
look of horror overwhelmed her. Mere words or actions could hold nothing on
that one dream, that one image, that had shaken him to the very core. It
seemed the embodiment of all the gnawing fears, the self doubts. He'd thought
he'd achieved an equilibrium with his animal instincts, but the fight with
Jesmind showed him how pitifully wrong he was. They only seemed abated because
he was in a very controlled, safe environment. He knew, then, that every time
his life was in danger, or he was angry, that he would fight that same fight, a
fight for control. And he knew that he could lose.

Of Jesmind, there was no sign. She had simply vanished
again, most likely waiting for another chance. Tarrin still had mixed feelings
about the fight, and about her. She wanted to kill him, but he knew he could
not kill her. It just seemed wrong. When they were apart, the Jesmind
he remembered was the incisive, light-hearted woman whom he'd met in that
treetop, who had a quirky sense of humor and those glorious green eyes. But it
was like she was another person now. He saw it in her eyes right before that
fight. She absolutely despised him, hated him with every fiber of her being.
In a way, that hurt him, because he didn't feel the same way. She had cared
about him in some way before he left her, that he knew. Be it compassion, or
responsibility, or even the beginnings of friendship, he wasn't sure. But not
anymore. He could see the lust for revenge in her eyes.

It was a hot summer day, and Tarrin sat panting on the
sand-pit practice field, nursing a broken tail. Allia stood calmly in front of
him, hand on her hip, with a distant expression he knew only too well. Allia
was nearly sadistic when she was training. She'd told him that a respect for
pain was one of the lessons learned. It was the way she had been taught. She
had the scars to prove it. "Don't lead with your foot like that again,"
she told him absently, checking her fingernails for any sign of damage as
Tarrin took his broken tail in his paws. There was a visible kink it in, and
he winced as he pulled the bones apart and gently let them come back together
in the right way, so they could heal. Despite a month of training, he'd yet to
even lay a paw on her. He was starting to get frustrated. No matter how well
he thought he was doing, she would simply seem to grow an extra arm or leg, and
that phantom limb would hit him in some very sensitive area. The Troll-skin
gloves she wore gave her strength proportional to his, and without that
strength advantage, it was clear who the better fighter was.

"I'll try not to," Tarrin grunted as he got
to his feet. he spread his legs wide, in a ready stance, and waited for her.
She didn't disappoint him, wading back into the fray confidently. What amazed
him about her was her fluid suppleness. She seemed to be capable of moving in
ways even a rope wouldn't dream of. She was like a candle flame, contorting in
the wind, bending herself in almost impossible angles to avoid blows, and then
springing back to the attack. That agility coupled with her speed made her
almost impossible to hit. Tarrin was no novice, but even his own training couldn't
find a hole in her defenses. He gritted his teeth as she flowed around several
more darting attacks, then she kicked him right in the backside with the inside
of her foot. He stumbled forward as she laughed lightly, and that just seemed
to set off something inside him. He was going to get her, no matter what it
took. He'd give her a reason to laugh.

He set his feet wide again, putting his clawed paws out
over his feet, spreading his weight. She'd warned him against doing just that,
because it would slow him down. And when she saw him do it again, she rushed
in to chastise him. She feinted a jab, then spun around, bringing her foot up,
performing one of her circle-kicks. Her foot whistled through the air as it
sped towards its target, his cheek.

And passed through empty air.

She almost spun to the ground, and had to wildly catch
herself before falling down. She'd been counting on hitting him to stop her
momentum, and he'd simply disappeared. All she saw were his pants laying on
the ground. She gasped as the significance of that hit her.

Just as the pad of his paw struck her right on the back
of the head. She catapulted forward, head first, and her face dug a furrow in
the sand as she hit the ground.

Tarrin pulled his hand back, enormously pleased with
himself. She'd preached and preached about the advantage of surprise in
combat. She never even dreamed that he would change form on her. That put him
right out of harm's way, and after slipping out of his clothes, he changed back
right behind her and literally slapped her on the back of the head.

Allia turned over and sat down, spitting sand out of
her mouth. Her sweat had made the sand stick to her face, and it looked like
she painted her face. Tarrin took one look at her and started laughing.
"I believe you made your point," she said icily, as the instructors
and cadets stopped to look at them. The fact that Tarrin had no clothes on
didn't catch everyone's eye nearly as much as the sight of the nigh-invincible
Allia with her backside on the ground and her face caked with sand.

Faalken and Valden walked over from where they and
their six cadets had been watching the two spar. They always watched them,
because there was much to learn from watching two such as them. From time to
time, Allia and Tarrin sparred with the cadets, to give them some exposure to
fighting against Non-humans. Tarrin and Allia both used tactics that relied on
their natural abilities; Allia's speed, and Tarrin's strength and natural
weaponry. In that way, Tarrin and Allia were more cadets than Novitiates.
They were even more involved with the Knights than most cadets were, since they
too sparred with the Knights. To give the Knights some basics of unarmed
combat, and too to fight against unconventional foes to broaden their
experience. Allia had approached the idea with trepidation at first, but the
tremendous respect the Knights had for her had worn away that reluctance. She
often called to them by their names, which was amazing, considering she would
not so much as speak to a Novice, and wasn't quite cordial to Sorcerers that
talked to her.

Allia gave him a wry smile, and offered her hand.
"Very well done," she complemented. "You changed form on me. I
didn't think of that."

"I hope you're not talking about me," Faalken
said dryly. Tarrin blinked. She spoke in Selani. Tarrin often forgot that he
was the only one who could understand her when she did.

"No, Faalken," she said as Tarrin helped her
to her feet. She pulled up the tail of her shirt and started wiping off the
sand. "I was telling Tarrin that he did very well."

"That was a pretty clever move," Faalken
agreed. "Uh, Tarrin, you can put your pants back on now," he said
pointedly.

Tarrin chuckled. "The clothes don't change with
me, Faalken," he said, reaching down and collecting his pants, and then
putting them back on. "Why do you think I didn't do that before? I'd be
losing clothes left and right."

Valden laughed. "True enough," he said.
"I'd feel a bit out of place bare as a newborn in the middle of a
battle."

"At least people would say you had courage,"
Faalken noted slyly.

"They'd say I had something," Valden
returned. "I doubt it would be courage."

"Do not get too much of an opinion of yourself,
Valden," Allia said calmly. "I have seen you in the baths. They
would say you have something, but it would not be what fills your
codpiece."

Valden gave her a strangled look, and then turned beet
red. Faalken almost fell over in a sudden gale of uncontrollable laughter.
Allia gave Valin a very calm, sober look, then one of those sea-blue eyes
winked slyly, and a corner of her lip quirked up into a near-smile.

"Ye Gods!" Valden gasped mockingly.
"Allia has a sense of humor! Great Karas, call me home, for the end is
here!"

"It's a rather base one, at that," Faalken
managed to gasp. He was wheezing audibly, and was bent over.

"You humans are so amusing," she said with a
light smile, then she put her four-fingered hand on Valden's cheek, bent down
and kissed the shorter man's other cheek like his daughter, and then turned her
back to him. "I think that is enough today, Tarrin. A day of practice is
always better when the student can walk away with a sense of accomplishment.
And you have done very well today. Very well indeed."

"Well thank you," he said with a smile.

"Come, let us bathe. I need to get the training
field off of my face and out of my hair."

Tarrin chuckled, picking up his shirt from the post
where he'd left it hang. They left Faalken, who was still in a state of near-paralysis,
now on his knees, laughing uncontrollably, pounding his hand on the ground.

"All kidding aside, Tarrin, you're coming along
very well," she told him as they walked back to the Tower. "I know I
didn't do half as well after only a month and some days."

"I had prior training," he shrugged, then he
wrinkled his nose. "Goodness, Allia, put those gloves somewhere
else," he said.

"I left them with Valden," she objected.

"What?"

"Valden has them," she affirmed.

"Then why do I smell Troll?" They both
looked around, and there was nothing. Just grass, the Tower, and a few of the
surrounding buildings that they could see.

"Maybe Valden is upwind of us," Allia
shrugged.

"Maybe you're right," he agreed.

He felt a tiny shudder under his feet, conducted up
through the pads on his foor. That was the only warning. But it was enough.
A paw on Allia's shoulder sent her careening to the side as he lunged the other
way.

As a club almost as large as Tarrin smashed the air
between them and crushed into the ground, sending dirt and grass in all
directions. Both Tarrin and Allia rolled to their feet.

And found themselves surrounded by four Trolls. Twelve
spans tall, nearly twice as tall as their opponents, their wide-featured,
brutish faces were alight with the prospect of the kill. Each one had nothing
but a fur loinclout cinched with a leather belt, and all four were carrying
clubs as big as Allia. Tarrin understood the nature of that selection
immediately. His magical defense did not carry over to the raw physical force
that the Trolls would put into those clubs. They would kill him just as fast
as any human should they hit him

They wasted no time. Allia gave a ear-splitting
undulating cry, the cry of alarm among her people, as her hands flashed to the
daggers she kept in her boots. Tarrin was a bit more direct, as the Cat flowed
into and through him. Instinct and thought were one, and they caused him to
explode into action. He ducked under the massive swing of another Troll, and
then kicked it in the side of the knee before it could recover. Tarrin's
strength caved in the side of its knee, and it sagged to the ground with a
bass-deep rumble of pain, rolling around on its back holding its knee. Allia
simply stepped aside as the Troll behind her gave a vast overhanded swing,
spraying dirt in every direction, then she danced lightly around it and sank
one of her daggers into the back of its knee. It too sagged to the ground.
Tarrin ducked under one swing, then dove forward to evade the other Troll's
swing. He danced around so that one Troll shielded him from the other, a Troll
that had turned to meet Allia. He saw his chance. "High and low!"
he shouted to Allia in Selani. "I'll go low!"

"Go!" she barked, backpedalling out of reach
of a huge swing.

Tarrin lunged forward just as the Troll in front of him
started after him, which surprised it. The Troll obviously wasn't used to such
small creatures attacking it. It tried to step back a bit, but Tarrin dove
right between its legs, rolled, and came up sprinting. The other Troll had set
its feet to deliver another overhand blow; Tarrin could see the club come up
over its head. Tarrin ducked down a bit and ran between its legs.

With both paws up, and his claws out.

The Troll shrieked in abject agony, bending over as
Tarrin's claws literally ripped out everything that was under its fur clout.
Allia dashed forward as Tarrin knelt down, and she put a boot on his shoulder
and leapt, then sprang off the head of the doubled Troll, high in the air. The
other Troll, which had just turned around to see where Tarrin went, got a
perfect view of Allia rear back both hands, and then throw her daggers with
precise and deadly accuracy. They drove into each of the Troll's eyes, the
tips and more finding the monster's brain, putting it forever into darkness.

As the Troll Allia felled hit the ground, Tarrin
absently reached up and ripped the throat out of the doubled Troll, ending its
hideous wailing.

A small formation of armored Knights and cadets came
around one of the storebuildings about that time, quickly surrounding the two
lamed Trolls and convincing them that sudden pacifism would lead to a longer
life. Tarrin was panting as he wiped the flesh and blood off his claws in the
grass, trying not to vomit at the overpowering stench of Trolls and Troll
blood, which was the core of their awful smell.

"Four Trolls that fast?" Faalken said
appreciatively.

"It was almost much shorter," Allia
said grimly as she pulled her daggers free of the Troll corpse. "It was
like they appeared from the thin air."

"They did," Tarrin said, putting the back of
his paw to his face, letting his own scent drown out the stench. "I
didn't see or hear them, not even when they attacked."

"Magic," Valden growled. "It had to
be. They'd never have gotten onto the grounds any other way."

Tarrin looked up at him. "Someone went to alot of
trouble to arrange this," he said tersely, getting his instincts back
under control.

A red-robed Sorcerer walked around the building, coming
up short at the display. He was a young man, not long a Sorcerer, with sandy
colored hair and a rather handsome, full-cheeked face. "My," he
said. "Trolls, here? However did they manage to get onto the
grounds?"

"We don't know yet," Valden told the man.

"Tarrin, you and Allia go on," Valden said.
"We'll take care of this."

"Yes, Master Valden," they said in unison.
"I have got to get this Troll-stench off of me," Tarrin told
Allia fervently.

Tarrin almost scrubbed off his fur in the baths, then
they went for the afternoon meal. Afterwards, Allia went to her room for her
private meditation. Tarrin caught up with Dar, and they went out into the
garden to talk.

"Trolls?" Dar said, taking the apple Tarrin
offered.

Tarrin nodded. "I felt one of them put his foot
down. That was the only warning I got." He looked out over the gardens,
to the hedge maze. He was still feeling a bit unsettled after the attack, and
he desperately wanted to go to the central courtyard, but there were too many
people watching him. "We got very lucky. If hadn't have moved, both of
us would probably be dead now."

"This is getting serious, Tarrin," Dar said.
"Whoever is doing this is starting to bring in harder things to kill. He
may pull a Dragon out of his hat next."

Tarrin scoffed. "No," he said. "It
probably took them a very long time to get those Trolls here. I
seriously doubt that they could do it again. Not any time soon, anyway. If
they stay on their little pattern, I have at least a ten-day before they try
again."

"I don't see how you can be so calm about
it," he said.

"I'm not," he said flatly. "But there's
nothing else I can do, so it's best for me not to get myself worked up about
it."

"Just be careful, Tarrin," Dar said, putting
his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I intend to, Dar," he assured him. "I,
I want to go out tonight," he said. "Can you leave the door open for
me?"

"I guess," he said. "Want me to stay
up?"

"No, just don't lock the door if you wake
up," he replied. "I just want to get out a while without so many
people watching me. It's almost creepy."

"I can understand that," he sighed.
"Oh, they're giving me the Test next ten-day," he said.

"We already know how it's going to turn out,"
Tarrin said with a grin.

Dar grinned back. "I know, but it still has to be
done," he said.

"Like it matters."

"They give it to you gifted ones too," he
said.

"I've already taken it."

"This is a different test," he replied.
"It gauges what spheres of Sorcery you're strong in. That way they know
how and where to teach you."

"I didn't know that," Tarrin said, sweeping a
fly off his back with his tail.

"I didn't until yesterday," he replied.
"I managed to get an Initiate to explain it to me."

Tarrin shrugged. "It's still nothing to worry
about," he said.

"I know," Dar replied.

The Keeper was walking towards them. "Uh
oh," Tarrin said in a low voice. "Trouble off the port bow."

"Man the catapults," Dar quipped. Tarrin had
to stifle a laugh. They stood respectfully as she approached, and it was
quickly obvious that she meant to talk to them. They bowed as she stepped up
before them. Tarrin noticed that the Keeper was only slightly taller than the
fifteen year old Dar.

"Tarrin," she said.

"Keeper."

"I have a gift for you," she said tersely.
"It was something that we didn't want to give to you until you reached the
Initiate, but it seems that you can use it now." She reached into a
pocket of her cream colored dress, and withdrew a shaeram, one made of
some kind of black metal, but it wasn't steel. Tarrin knew the scent of
steel. This was some other kind of metal, one he'd never smelled before.
"It's been enchanted," she explained. "It'll let you change
form without losing your clothes or anything in your hands. They'll go to some
other place when you change, and come back when you change back. The shaeram
itself will turn into a little metal collar when you're in your cat
shape."

"Uh, thank you, Keeper," he said uncertainly,
accepting the black metal amulet. It was surprisingly light, and the metal
seemed both cold and warm at the same time.

"Let me help you put it on," she said,
motioning for him to turn around.

He really couldn't deny her her request. He turned
around and knelt so she could reach his neck easily, and she fastened the black
metal chain of the amulet around his neck. He had the most peculiar feeling
the instant she fastened it, but it faded so quickly that he doubted he felt
anything at all. "Now let's have a look at it," she said, patting
him on the side. He turned around and let her inspect the amulet, and then she
smiled. "It looks nice on you," she said.

"Uh, thank you, Keeper," he said.

"Let's test it, make sure the weave was made
right. Change shape, and then change back."

"Alright." He stepped away from them and
willed himself into his other form. There was the customary blurring of
vision, then he had a new point of view at the level of their shins. He sat
down as the Keeper knelt beside him and put her hands on the delicate black
metal collar now around his neck, a collar so close to the color of his fur
that it was almost invisible. "No clothes," she told him. "The
amulet did that part of its job. Alright, change back." When she moved
away, he did so. And he was fully clothed, with the amulet around his neck.

"Excellent," she said, smiling. "The
weave is working just fine."

Tarrin looked down, smiling. That solved the one
problem he constantly had about changing his shape. It opened entire new
levels of sneaking around for him. "Thank you, Keeper," he said
sincerely. "This is an excellent gift." He already had plans.
Little did the Keeper know, she'd just given him the opportunity he needed to
do a little snooping. There were many, many cats on the Tower grounds, there
to chase down the rats, or the cats that were personal pets. One more wouldn't
attract much attention.

"I'm glad you like it," she said with a
smile. "Oh, by the way, don't worry about what happened today. I'm going
to see to it that it doesn't happen again," she said with a bit of steel
in her voice.

"I won't," he replied civilly.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer," she
said. "Enjoy the rest of your day." She looked up at the late
afternoon sun. "What's left of it, anyway."

"That was nice of them," Dar said as the
Keeper disappeared from view.

Tarrin held the amulet in his paw, looking down at it.
It seemed....warm. "It's a welcome gift," he said sincerely.
"I don't change form because I'll lose my clothes. This solves that
problem. I'm going to have to start wandering around as a cat from now on.
That way I won't attract as much attention."

"Probably not," he agreed. "There are
cats all over the grounds."

"It'll also let them get used to not seeing
me," he said with a wink.

"Oh," he said, winking back. "That
could come in handy too."

"Just a bit."

Tarrin's "gift" had an unforseen side effect,
one that very nearly caused him to go into a rage.

It wouldn't come off.

It was held on by magic, about that much he was
positive. Though the chain was long enough to slip over his head, it would
not. And there wasn't a clasp anymore anywhere on the chain; it was a
continuous chain all the way around. He'd ripped off a good amount of his own
skin struggling to remove the amulet, and he'd worked himself up into such a
frenzy that both Allia and Dar had to work together to calm him down.

Like the rest of his kind, Tarrin had a nearly phobic
fear of being trapped or captured. The fastest way to set him off was to put
him in a cage, where the Cat was imprisoned, and its desperate need to be free
caused it to all but overwhelm the human half. It was that instinctive
reaction that had caused Jesmind to go berzerk in Torrian and kill so many
people during her escape. The amulet necklace was no cage, but it was a
collar, a symbol of his imprisonment. They may have well put a leash on him.
To be subject to the will of another was so against the very nature of the Cat
that it seemed alien to Tarrin's human half as well. They were fiercely
independent creatures, and the amulet represented a limitation, a stricture on
that freedom that he couldn't deny. Just thinking about it got his blood
seething, and he felt the almost overpowering need to break things.

He stalked about in a white-faced fury for the entire
day, and people avoided him like Death herself. He had an entire bench to
himself during breakfast. Even Allia and Dar were afraid to get too close to
him. The setting for the day was when he woke up, and the door latch stuck as
he was trying to get out. Without hesitating, Tarrin ripped the door off the
hinges and threw it into the hall, nearly startling Dar out of his wits and
sending two Novices running for cover. Elsa had tried to confront him about
the door after breakfast, but one look at his face made her blanch and back
away. Nothing was taught in his classes that day, since the instructors were
too busy jumping every time Tarrin so much as twitched. A guard tried to stop
him from leaving the Tower after lunch, and Tarrin left the man groaning with
both arms and legs broken and his pike tied in a knot around his waist. He
spent the whole afternoon pacing through the city, heedless of the fact that
Novices weren't allowed off the Tower grounds, wandering aimlessly and not
paying attention to anything. The gate guards had tried to stop him too, but
after Tarrin had nailed one of them to the gatehouse with a dagger through each
forearm, and hurled another into the magical fence, the others wisely got out
of his way. They seemed to realize that he was keeping himself from killing
anyone, but he had absolutely no reservations over hurting them. He walked
right over more pedestrians than could be easily counted, and had overturned
three carts and killed two horses that refused to get out of his way. Eventually
a contingent of the city guard was dispatched. Not to detain him, but to clear
the path in front of him. The fact that he wandered with absolutely no set
pattern or goal made it very hard for them.

And Tarrin never noticed them.

After he'd walked himself into exhaustion, he returned
to the Tower grounds, mainly because he had nowhere else to go. He was allowed
in unchallenged, and when he was halfway there, Allia and Dar approached him
together, a bit wary, and started the task of settling him. It took both of
them, and it took them nearly two hours just to get him to sit down. And that
took Allia pushing him down and literally sitting in his lap, straddling his
legs and holding him down with both hands. "Tarrin!" she snapped in
a harsh voice. "You dishonor yourself acting this way!"

He gave her a flat, deadly look, and his ears laid back
on his head.

"Don't lay your ears back at me, boy," she
challenged hotly. "You won't hurt me, and you know it. Now stop acting
like a sun-baked shivat and talk to me!"

Tarrin stood up, picking her up with him. Then he set
her gently on her feet and walked away. She moved to follow, but Dar put a
hand out. "No," he told her.

"He will hurt someone like this," she told
him.

"No, I don't think so," he replied. "I
know where he's going."

"This is something he needs to work out for
himself, Allia," Dar told her. "We calmed him down, but that was
just putting the lid on the boiling pot. He needs more than we can do for
him."

She looked at where they were on the grounds.
"Yes, that is the only place he would go, is it not?" She sighed.
"I think you are right. When he is ready to talk, he will seek us
out."

It wasn't until he was standing at the base of the
fountain in the courtyard, gazing up at the incredibly beautiful face of the
marble statue, that some semblance of rationality returned to him. He sank to
his knees in front of it, putting his face in his paws, as he realized just how
close to madness he'd went. He'd terrorized people, destroyed things, even
killed animals. That rage was replaced with self doubt, loathing, and fear of
himself, at what he had almost done. If someone other than Allia had gotten in
his face, he wasn't sure if he would have killed him or not. If it had been the
Keeper, then he had no doubt what would have happened. She would have died.

It just seemed so complicated, even though it was so
simple. He knew how the Cat thought. He even knew what it was going to do
most of the time, but it was as if he was a spectator in his own body. Even
knowing what it would do, he felt powerless to stop it. The Cat was so much
stronger inside him than he ever dreamed, capable of throwing him aside like a
forgotten toy whenever the mood suited it. All day it had not been a struggle
for control, but a struggle for containment, to keep the Cat from doing
something that Tarrin would regret for the rest of his life.

And yet, staring up at that beautiful face, it was as
if everything he'd done that day was washed from his soul, and he felt at peace
with himself.

And that peace allowed him to think, for the first time
in nearly a day. Yes, the amulet would not come off, but it did not control
him. He controlled it. And it was not a symbol of his slavery. The shaeram
was the symbol of the katzh-dashi, an amulet just like any other. It
was up to him to use it to his own advantage. It took him a fairly long time
to reach those conclusions, and it was well after dark the next time he
bothered to move his eyes off the statue.

He had to control it. If he didn't, it would
drive him mad. All his training was about control, all his experiences of life
were about control. He had to start using them in his fight with the Cat, or
the Cat would overwhelm him, and Tarrin Kael would be no more.

Tarrin had thought he'd reached a balance inside
himself. He knew at that moment that he could not have been more wrong. The
real battle for himself had just begun.

Sniffling a bit, Tarrin stood up again, looking at the
soft light of the Skybands casting multihued radiance over the statue on the
fountain, and it all but took his breath away. Such loveliness seemed
impossible for the human hand to carve with such perfection. Without quite
knowing why, he waded into the fountain and climbed up onto the base, standing
in front of the statue. He put his paws on its shoulders, and leaned in and
rested his forehead against the shoulder of the statue. "I don't know if
I can do it," he admitted out loud, confiding in the statue, voicing the
truths he felt in his heart. "I never would have done what I did just a
month ago. I'm losing myself, piece by piece, bit by bit. I don't know if I'm
strong enough. I never dreamed the Cat could be so strong. I just feel so, so
lost. And I'm scared, and I don't know what to do. I'm, changing," he
said with a shudder in his voice. "And I can't stop it."

Faith.

The word just seemed to echo through the courtyard,
though he knew that he had heard no sound.

You must have faith.

Tarrin looked around, quite mystified at the
strange voice he heard. It was sweet, melodic, but it had an odd choral
quality to it, as if it carried a power inside it that was more than what a
single voice could hold. "Who are you?" he called.

Faith, my kitten, it repeated. Faith.

Tarrin looked around in confusion. "What
do you mean? I don't understand."

But there was no reply.

Tarrin started to wonder if he really was going
mad. He backed away from the statue quickly, almost falling off the ledge of
the statue's base. He hesitated only a moment, drinking in the calming beauty
of the statue and the fountain, and then he turned and left.

The events of that day were more or less forgotten;
that was, Tarrin wasn't punished for it. Not a word was mentioned of it, but
it had its own effects. The most obvious was that the Novices now would have
absolutely nothing to do with him. They stayed as far away from him as they
could. Before, where he got nervous looks, now they refused to even look at
him. Novices would turn around and walk in the other direction, or duck into
doors or side passages, when he walked the hallways. At dinner, the only time
they were forced to be near him, the people who sat at his table finished in
moments and hurried away.

Their rejection of him hurt, and it hurt deeply. He
could understand their fear, but that didn't make it any easier. He had lost
control of himself, and shown them the monster that lurked underneath. And now
they were treating him like that monster. He became moody and out of sorts the
next few days. Not even Allia and Dar could get him back to his usual self for
any extended amount of time.

It wasn't the only shock he received, however. Three
days after his rampage, he and Allia were visiting the baths for their
after-practice bathing, and Tarrin saw Jesmind in the baths, soaping her red
hair vigorously. The sight of her made him grit his teeth together, and he
extended his claws almost out of impulse. Allia put a hand on his shoulder
quickly. "She is not here to fight," she warned, soothing him.
"Do not dishonor yourself by attacking one who has no desire to
fight."

"Alright," he said stiffly. She looked up,
catching his scent, and those green eyes locked with his for a few moments.
Then she just looked away, dunking herself underwater to rinse her hair.

The Novices that tended the baths took one look at the
impending disaster, and then fled, leaving the three of them alone.

Tarrin stood at the edge of the bathing pool and
squatted down, his eyes flat. "What are you doing here, Jesmind?" he
asked in a stiff voice.

"I'm bathing," she said with infuriating
calm, pulling her hair behind her.

"Don't state the obvious," he grated.
"It makes you look like a fool."

Her eyes flashed, and her light expression turned
steely. "I'm not the fool here," she said, her voice carrying an
edge. Then she turned her back on him pointedly. "I made a deal with the
Keeper," she told him. "I promised not to fight with you, and in
exchange, they allow me to stay on the grounds."

"You, making deals?" he scoffed.

"Why not?" she said. "I'd never get
away from here if I killed you. They'd kill me. I'm not stupid," she
told him. "So count your blessings, cub. So long as you're inside the
fence, you're safe from me. But be warned. The minute you step outside the
fence, your life is mine."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore," he said in a
hissing voice. "Any time you want a piece of me, you just ask. I'll
bring everything you can handle." That even startled him.

"My, the cub grows teeth, and he thinks he's an
adult," she chuckled. "Since we're going to be stuck here together,
there's no reason to be so nasty. I'm almost ashamed for you."

"Get over it," he said in an ominous voice.

She stopped, then turned partially and looked at him.
And then she flinched visibly. "I, see," she said quietly. Her tone
surprised him. It was one of regret, not anger. "Goodbye, Tarrin,"
she said quietly. "I'll think fondly of you."

That confused him. He gave Allia a strange look, then
stalked away.

"Allia," Jesmind called.

"What do you want of me, kissash?" she
demanded flatly.

Jesmind winced. "Watch him," she said in a
civil tone. "He doesn't have much more time."

"Time?" Allia said. "Time until
what?"

"Until he is gone." She wrung her hair out
with her paws, looking up at the Selani woman. Her face was sober. "It
may come down to you. A knife thrust to the base of the skull will kill, even
one of us. Just make sure you sever the spine, and leave the knife in until
he's dead."

"What talk is this?" she demanded hotly.

"He trusts you," she sniffed. "When
there's no more hope for him, you're the only one that will be able to get
close enough."

Tarrin and Allia were in practice the next day when the
news reached him. A nervous Novice handed him a message, and then bolted.
Tarrin broke the seal on it and unfolded it.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied. Then his eyes
widened, and the first smile in a ten-day graced his handsome face. "My
family is here!" he exclaimed. He laughed, and then picked up Allia and
spun her around a few times. Then his face took a stricken look.

"Just go to them, my brother," she said
softly to him. "They are your blood. It is not how you look that will
matter to them."

"I hope so," he said fervently.

"Go bathe first," she noted critically.
"You have sand all over you."

"You're right," he agreed.

"Well, Faalken," Allia said, dismissing
Tarrin with a slap on the rump. "What can I teach you today?"

Tarrin flew through his bath, all but jumping in and
jumping out, then he ran to his room and put on his Novice clothes. The note
said to meet them in the room that was the third door on the left coming off
the hallway that led from the Grand Stairwell, on the third level, along the outermost
ring. That was only one floor up, but was in a different section of the Tower.

He ran up there, but then stood in silent dread by the
door for nearly ten minutes. His desire to see his family was balanced by the
fear that they would reject him, and it left his mind a confusing chaos of
conflicting thoughts and impulses. He stood there , eyes closed, hand on the
door handle, until a voice from behind startled him out of his indecision.

"Tarrin," called the warm voice.

Tarrin turned and looked. It was Jula, the Sorceress
who had braided his hair. She smiled at him and approached, putting her hand
on his forearm. "Are you unwell?"

"No, Madam Jula," he said quietly. He heard
sudden commotion in the other room. They knew he was here. "I'm alright."

"Good," she said with a smile, patting his
arm. "Have a good day."

Tarrin watched her leave, then he took a deep cleansing
breath, and turned the handle.

They were all there, as was the Keeper. Seated around
a polished oak table that was the main facet of the room, surrouned by many
plush chairs. A single window stood on the far wall. But it was the faces of
his family that captured his attention, mainly his mother. He watched that
face blink once, and then a look of profound relief and joy swept over her
features. "Tarrin!" she called, coming around the table.

Tarrin met her half way and buried her in his arms,
lifting her up off the ground, all the relief in the world flooding over him.
"Mother," he said quietly, in a voice that communicated all the fear
and anxiety he had felt at meeting her.

"I need my ribs, my son," she gasped. He let
go of her and hugged his father in almost exactly the same way, then he picked
up Jenna and whirled her around a few times, as she held onto his neck. He
cradled his beloved little sister up in his arms, laughing delightedly. She
reached up and touched his cat ear delicately, then started feeling along its
ridge-backed length. "It's soft," she remarked.

"It's sensitive," he warned, though he didn't
stop her.

"I think it's cute," she said with a grin.

"Well thank you," he grinned, setting her
down. "You have no idea how frightened I was--"

"I know, Tarrin, I know," Eron told him,
putting a hand on his shoulder. "But no matter how you look, or what happens,
you'll always be our son, and we will always love you."

Tarrin put his paw over his father's hand, his eyes
grateful and warm.

"Well, I think you need time," the Keeper
said. "Show them around, Tarrin." And then she took her leave.

"How did it happen, Tarrin?" Elke asked
calmly. "They only told us that you'd been changed. They didn't give us
details."

They sat down, each paw holding a hand of a parent and
Jenna in his lap, playing with his tail idly, and he recanted the events that
had led him up to that point. "I don't really blame Jesmind," he
said, looking down a bit. "I just wish she'd give up on this and just
wait. She doesn't understand."

"She's only doing what she thinks best," Elke
said.

"Well, it's not best for me," he replied calmly.
"Jenna hon, don't pick at the fur. That hurts."

"Sorry," she apologized. He pulled his tail
free of her hand, and then rapped the end against her forehead, making her
giggle. Then he let her grab it again and continue her inspection.

"You seem to have taken to the tail," Eron
remarked.

"It's not easy to ignore," he chuckled.
"It has its uses."

"I'm sure," Elke said. She turned his paw
over and ran her finger along the large pad on the palm, then over the smaller
pads on the fingers. Then she pinched his fingertip gently, coaxing a long,
sharp, wickedly curved claw to come out. "Formidable," she noted.
"It's too long. Where does it go?"

"The bones in the end of my fingers are
hollow," he told her. "The claw stays inside it. When its retracted,
you can feel the base of it up by the knuckle. Just at the end of the pad on
my fingertip." He did so, feeling her fingertip put pressure on that very
small bump that was the base of his claw.

"Clever."

"Don't congratulate me," he told her. "I
didn't do it."

She chuckled. "Guess not. What's it like?"

"It's not all that bad," he told her.
"But I have the Cat inside my head too. He kinda came with the body.
Sometimes, sometimes I have trouble controlling it. When I get mad, or I'm in
a fight." He cut himself off. "Let me show you around," he
said. "The gardens here are very pretty."

He took them on a tour of the grounds, introducing them
to Faalken and the Knights, then showing the the huge garden behind the north
Tower, where the hedge maze was. Tarrin enjoyed it immensely, feeling the
worries of the last month flow away at the touch of his parents' hands, or the
bright laughter of his sister. They walked around the garden five times, then
sat down on one of the marble benches. "We've decided to stay here,
Tarrin," Eron told him.

"Stay?" he repeated. "But the
farm--"

"Tarrin," Eron said. "Don't worry about
the farm."

"But it's our home, father," he said.

"It's not anymore," Elke said quietly.

"What happened?"

"Not long after the Sorcerer arrived to train
Jenna, the village was attacked by Dargu," she told him. "We were
all in the village that day. Emiris, the man sent by the Tower, gave his life
to defend the village. He managed to make them turn and run, even with two arrows
sticking out of his chest. He died with honor," she said with respect in
her voice. "When we got back to the farm, there wasn't much left. They
missed the underground rooms, but everything else was burned to the ground.
Instead of rebuilding, we decided to bring Jenna closer to the tower, and we
thought that with us close by, it may make you feel more at home here."
She patted his paw. "So we packed up everything we could and came here.
When you leave the Tower, we'll go back home and rebuild. Maybe," she
said. "I rather like it here, and Eron's starting to get a bit restless
out there in the forest. I think a couple of years in the city will be good
for him. And the Sorcerers said they'd see if they couldn't fix his
limp," she added with a smile.

"I'm used to it now," he said mildly.

"True, but you'd be more fun to chase around the
bedroom if you weren't so easy to catch."

Tarrin laughed, and Eron flushed a bit. He figured
that it was his exposure to his mother that made him relate so well with Allia,
and at one time, with Jesmind. They all three were very much alike.

"I'll miss the old farmhouse," Tarrin sighed,
"but I guess it's not all that important."

"No, not really," Elke replied. "What
matters is that we're still a family, no matter where we are."

"Amen," Eron said.

They ate dinner that night in the same private room
where he'd met them, and they all sat around the table and talked for quite a
while. The Dargu attack had been sudden, but only a very few houses were
damaged, and though there were casualties, they had been light. Only three men
had been killed, all of them men Tarrin didn't know very well, who lived to the
northeast of the village. The Kael farm, the Sain farm, and the Ubara farm had
been burned down, and a few fires in the village itself from burning arrows
were just about it. Tarrin marveled at the change in his home village, how it
had always been so peaceful and quiet. Now, two attacks in so many months. It
was as if the entire world were starting to get unsettled.

But the villagers would cope. Elke respected them a
great deal, though she didn't show it, because they were strong. It took a
special kind of people to live in a frontier village, where danger could show
itself at any moment. The fact that Aldreth saw alot of Dals come down from
the mountains, and even the occasional Forest Folk wander in from the Frontier,
made them a bit more cosmopolitan than normal backwater villages, and it gave
them a tolerance for things that weren't "home". They were a rugged
people.

"What have you seen so far, Tarrin?" Eron
asked.

"Not much," he chuckled. "I've been in
the Tower almost all the time I've been here. I came in the middle of the
night like a thief, and sight-seeing wasn't on my mind. I--" he stopped abruptly,
turning in his seat. Jesmind's scent was touching him, and it made his ears
instantly go back. He had no doubt that she was listening, and in an instant,
he realized that if she could use his family to draw him off the Tower
grounds. That filled him with a sudden icy rage, so sudden that the Cat roared
up from the dark place in his mind and very nearly seized control.

"What's the matter?" Elke asked.

He put up his paw to hush her, and he reached out with
his formidable senses. Her scent was her cat-scent, and it was wafting in from
the window. He stood up, oblivious to the strange looks his family was giving
him, padding on silent feet towards the window.

He had no choice now. To protect his family, Jesmind
had to die.

"Get out of the room," he said in a cold,
tightly controlled voice.

"What?"

"Get out!" he shouted, as his hand lashed
through the window and closed over fur. He drew his hand in, and whipped the
white cat across the room. Jesmind yowled in shock and surprise as she sailed
through the air, which turned into a screech when she slammed into the far wall
with enough impact to chip the stones. Jesmind changed form, blurring into her
human-like shape on her hands and knees, her eyes wide, and sudden fear glowing
in them.

Utter, total rage boiled through Tarrin's mind as he
charged forward, picking up the table and sending his family tumbling in every
direction. Jesmind seemed frozen in place, then she suddenly tried to spring
out of the way as Tarrin levelled the table at her, but it was too late. He
slammed the table into her, as it shattered from the impact, and for a moment
she was pinned between the remains of the table and the wall, crying out in
pain, until she got a leg up and put a foot on the table, then pushed it away.
"Tarrin!" she gasped hurriedly, "I'm not here to fight!
Tarrin!"

But Tarrin was beyond any mere words, and one look into
his eyes told her that. There was nothing rational left in his eyes. She
ducked under when he swung the table pedestal at her, her claws ripping the
muscles in his arm and making him drop it. But instead of pressing, Jesmind
backed away, quickly, backing straight towards the window.

She never saw it coming.

Eron stepped up behind her and smashed a table fragment
into the back of her head, and she crumpled like a rag doll.

Yet that wasn't enough. Tarrin was on top of her in
the span of a heartbeat, kneeling over her with one paw on her chest to hold
her down, the other rising with claws out to finish her off. She put both her
paws on his wrist, weakly trying to push him away, but her eyes were unfocused
and she had no strength in her arms.

"Tarrin!" Elke gasped in shock. She grabbed
his wrist with both hands. "You can't! She's defenseless!"

Tarrin yanked suddenly, sending Elke reeling, but she
would not let go. "No!" she barked at him. "Tarrin!"

He rose up off of Jesmind and smashed Elke against the
wall, her feet dangling half a span off the floor, holding her up by the paw
she held in her grip, as the other paw reared back, claws out. Her stunned
look of terror did not register to him. At that instant, she was not his
mother, she was an enemy, someone trying to stop him.

He didn't know what would have happened, had Eron not
smashed him in the back of the neck with the table leg. The blow made him let
go as he gasped in pain, staggering back. The blow knocked some sense back
into him. Jenna was crying hysterically. Elke Kael was wheezing for breath,
and Eron was just beside him, ready to hit him again should do anything
untowards.

Tarrin looked up, and he realized what had almost
happened. He had very nearly killed one of the most important people in his
life. "What have I done?" he said in a voice filled with self
loathing.

He had almost killed his mother.

He stepped back, putting his paws to his face, bending
over to hide from the shame and agony of it.

He had almost killed his mother.

Everything he had ever feared had come to pass. He was
losing control of himself, becoming the monster that he appeared to be. Not
even his own family was safe around him any more. He would have killed
Jesmind, and he would have killed Elke, had his father not stopped him.

He had almost killed his mother.

He stood up and wailed, a sound of such loss and
despair that it made the hair on the back of Elke Kael's neck stand up, a wail
filled with such self-loathing and guilt that it nearly broke her heart. He
looked at her then, and in his eyes she could see his blame, his guilt, his
apology, and she could see his horror. It was such a look of pleading, of
terror, of guilt...it was the look of a man who had lost all hope for himself.
He had almost killed her, and Elke understood with that look that it was the
one thing that he could not bear, the one horror against which he could not
stand.

He had almost killed his mother, and it was the one
crime for which there was no forgiveness.

Tarrin flinched away from his mother's gaze, turned,
and jumped from the open window.

The Cat-woman groaned a bit and pushed herself up on her
hands, looking out the open window. Blood was oozing from the corner of her
mouth. "Did you have to hit me so hard?" she complained, rubbing the
back of her head.

"I don't think I hit you hard enough," Eron
said in a cold voice, one that made her flinch.

"That fool," she spat, sitting up. "I
warned him about this, but he wouldn't listen to me." She got to her
feet, wobbling a bit, as Elke comforted the nearly-hysterical Jenna.
"Tell the Keeper that I'll take care of it."

"How, by killing him?"

Jesmind looked at the blocky man, her eyes grim.
"No, he'll do that for himself if someone doesn't stop him," she
said. "I didn't come here to fight, but he thought that I was. I didn't
know that you people were his family. He was fighting to protect you from me.
I'm responsible for this," she said, sighing, "and I have to put
things right. Tell the Keeper I'll bring him back, alive, no matter how long
it takes."

She pushed her red hair out of her face. "Unless
I'm too late. Right now, he's looking for somewhere to die. I hope I find him
before he finds a good spot."

In the morning, all that was found of him were his
clothes, ripped from his body, then folded as neatly as shredded clothes could
be folded.

Chapter
9

He had no idea how long he had wandered.

Tarrin was padding slowly beside a pile of reeking
garbage in a narrow, crooked back alley, so exhausted that he could only move
one leg at a time. He had ran all night, in his cat form, running from the
horrors that he had almost carried out, running from himself.

He wanted to die. He wished to the Gods that Jesmind
had taken his life back in Torrian, that he would have just laid there and let
her rip out his throat. The guilt of his crime had crushed all will and hope
from him, and it was as if his life was over. But that had not happened, and
the Gods had not answered his prayer and struck him dead, so he was going to
have to do it himself. Suld had a nice deep harbor. A walk off the pier would
end his agony, would forever silence the animal, the monster, inside him.

The only problem was, he was lost.

Suld did not gently slope down towards the sea as most
port cities did. It was a slightly hilly area in a natural harbor, and the
land rose and fell in very gentle waves that had no definite direction. The
stench of the city blocked out the smell of the sea, and his very small size
prevented him from seeing it. And he had no idea at all of where he was.

The irony of it almost made him laugh. He couldn't
even kill himself right.

He dragged himself along several streets, wandering
aimlessly with his head down and his tail dragging the ground, until he could
go no farther. He was on a wide street in a classier part of town, where iron
fences separated well kept lawns and gardens from the street and from each
other, and where large houses rested on sizable plots of land. It was dawn,
and already many carriages, horses, and pedestrians were going about their
daily business. He needed to stop, to rest, but he couldn't do it here. He
would be disturbed, and the last thing he wanted was to be disturbed.

He wriggled himself between the iron bars of a fence
and crawled up under a well manicured shrub. It was dark, and cool, and
peaceful there. A fitting place, a quiet place. A place to reflect. He was
too numb now to feel the pain, there was only the memory, the sight of his
mother starting at him in fear, the knowledge that had he not been stopped, he
would have taken the life of one of the people on that world that he would die
for. His family had come to find Tarrin, but they had found the beast that
lurked within him, the beast that he could not control. He would die before he
hurt his family.

And he had to die to make sure that he didn't.

He would sleep. Close his eyes and let the slumber
take him, hold him, keep him sedate and calm, keep him from hurting anyone
else. He would lay down under that excellent bush, and he would sleep.

And he would remain so until he was dead.

He collapsed under the bush unceremoniously, too tired
to even make himself comfortable. Then he closed his eyes, and dreamless
oblivion engulfed him.

He was only vaguely aware of the hands on him until he
was totally surrounded by them. The scent of a very young human filled his
nose, one whose hair smelled of lilac, and his nose and fur were being held
against a very soft fabric. Linen, maybe, or silk.

"Aww, what happened to you, little kitty?" a
piping girl-child's voice called, as a tiny hand started petting him.
"You smell like you were chased through a garbage pile." Tarrin
remained limp in her arms, eyes closed, even though he was awake. He really
didn't care. It was as if anything that was done had no meaning for him, and
he drifted in his own world of unfeeling numbness. He could hear, and
understand, but it had no importance to him. If she petted him, he did not
care. If she took him by the head and broke his neck, so much the better.

"Aww, you must be sick," she said, compassion
in her voice. "Don't you worry, little kitty, I'll take care of
you."

He felt himself being carried, and then a door was
opened. "Mother, look what I found in the garden," she said
brightly.

"Janette!" came a shocked gasp. "You
take that, that creature back outside this instant!"

"But she's sick, mother!" the child
protested. "And she's lost, and all alone. She must be scared half to
death."

"Is it even alive?" she asked suddenly.

"She's breathing," the girl told her mother
confidently. "I think she just needs a warm place to sleep and some food,
and she'll be alright."

"No!" the woman said adamantly. "I will
not have that animal in my house."

There was a brief pause. "Then you take
her," the little girl said with surprising firmness in one so young.
"If you throw her out, she's going to die. And I won't do that."

It was a devastatingly effective tactic, it seemed, for
Tarrin was shortly thereafter bathed and put on a soft pillow, with a small
coverlet put over him to keep him warm. The little girl stayed right beside
him, filling his nose with her scent, scratching his ears and petting him,
crooning soft words to him. Her gentle, sing-song voice disrupted his attempts
to return to the oblivion he so badly wanted, but he refused to open his eyes,
or so much as move. To do so was to recognize life, abandon his will to end
his life, and it was hard enough supressing the Cat's instincts, the foremost
of which was the instinct of self-preservation. He would lay there until he
died; the little girl was just dragging out his wishes.

The little girl proved to be a stubborn opponent. Long
after most children would have lost interest, the little girl was still there.
She refused a call to lunch, and then another call to dinner, staying by him,
reading to him, petting him and trying to coax him into activity. She ignored
the maids, the butler, and even her own mother's firm command to "leave
that creature be and come eat your dinner". She stubbornly stayed by him,
even when her father came into her room.

"Your mother said you found a cat, and you won't
eat your dinner," he said in a firm voice.

"She needs somebody with her, father," she
said maturely.

The coverlet was pulled from him. "But she's
asleep, pumpkin," he argued. "You should let her sleep and come down
and eat your supper."

"She may be asleep, but she's all alone in a scary
place," the little girl told her father. "I don't want her to be
sad. You don't get well when you're sad. You told me that yourself."

"Uhm, yes, well," he floundered, unable to
counter her argument. "She's wearing a collar," he remarked. Tarrin
felt a tug on the black metal collar around his neck, the transformed shaeram.
"I'll ask around and see if anyone has lost a cat. If we can get her
home, maybe she'll get well faster. And you can eat your dinner."

Dinner was brought up to the little girl, who managed
to outlast her parents on that score. He could smell roasted beef just in
front of his nose, but his desire to be no more was so strong that even the
primal force of hunger could lift him from the pillow.

As Tarrin's will ebbed away, even his will to die, he
retreated farther and farther into himself, fleeing from the pain, finding the
oblivion he so desperately sought inside his own mind. He found an easier way,
a simpler way, to find peace. He opened his mind to the Cat, and allowed its
awareness to join with his seamlessly, completely. The Cat knew only of now,
that moment. The past and the future were irrelevent, meaningless to it. It was
the now that mattered, and in that eternal now, Tarrin could find peace, refuge
from the pain, from the guilt, from the agonizing, nightmarish memories of what
he had done.

Tarrin had feared his instincts, loathed them, tried to
control them. He found peace by surrendering to them. And in that surrender,
the sentient being that was Tarrin was suspended, pushed by the wayside, taking
up that dark place in their mind where the instincts had once lurked. It was
dark there, and there was only the impressions of senses, a vague awareness of
reality...and there was no pain. Caught up in the eternal now that was the way
of the thinking of the cat, there was no past, no pain from the past, no
future, no fear of what it would bring. There was only now, and in that now,
there was no pain.

In that instant, that eternal now, Tarrin was the
observer, the lurker, and the Cat was the one in control.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The room was a large, airy one, full of light and
brightness and cheer. He was on a large bed, propped on a pillow. It was
warm, and safe, and he felt secure in his surroundings. A plate of meat was
sitting just away from his nose, but he was so weak that he could not fight off
the coverlet to reach it. The Human in him knew the words that were the things
he could see, could understand the sounds that the human made, and he used that
knowledge. He was a pragmatic creature; though the Human seemed both alien and
a part of him at the same time, he had no fear of it, and was not afraid to
allow its greater understanding of things guide it.

The little human made a bevy of delighted sounds when
she saw his open eyes, sitting down beside him and hand-feeding him the much
needed meat. He felt safe in the presence of the little human, safe and
protected, as safe as he would feel curled up against his mother's stomach.

That thought caused a pang of hurt through the Human in
him, but he could not understand why.

He accepted the little mother's preening sedately. He
was warm, and safe, and there was no hurt or hunger. He was content. He
closed his eyes and purred his contentment.

However much he wanted unfeeling sleep, the reality of
life would not allow Tarrin to slip away.

Tarrin's attempt to submerge himself into the Cat had
worked, but only up to a point. He too shared the Cat's eternal now of
existence. In mere hours, he lost his feelings against the memory of what
happened, and that was what caused his rational mind to flow back up from the
darkness. What was past was past, and it was of no moment.

That first night, as Janette slept contentedly with him
laying at the foot of her bed, Tarrin's rational mind rejoined the Cat in the
world of the outside. Unlike his attempts to quell or control the Cat, the Cat
welcomed his awareness as a brother, and made room for him in the forefront so
that they both may live the life that was theirs. It was a poignant lesson to
his rational mind, about how badly he had misjudged the instincts that were
inside him. They were not all evil and destructive. He still didn't trust
himself, but he had come to the conclusion that, so long as he was not put in a
position where he would be challenged, he would be content.

And living out his life as a little girl's pet seemed
to him to be an excellent way to go about it.

The Cat didn't mind; all it was worried about was food,
shelter, and protection, and those existed in this place.

It was perfect. It fulfilled all his physical needs
while providing him a place to create a new life for himself, a life free of
the pain and guilt that had nearly destroyed him. Janette's house was a good
place to hide, and it was a place where he could find a simpler existence, free
of the pressures and failures of his past.

The next morning, the matronly, gray-bunned maid opened
the door and called to the girl, waking her up. She yawned and stretched, then
looked right at Tarrin. "Good morning, little kitty," she called,
reaching down and picking him up. Tarrin decided that he rather liked being
held and cuddled, because the girl's touch was surprisingly gentle, and there
was a selfless giving love in her touch that was impossible to ignore.

In her nightclothes, she trudged down the stairs to the
small room where her parents were taking their breakfast. The mother flashed
the daughter a stern look the minute she noticed her. "Do you have to
carry that creature around?" she demanded.

"She doesn't know her way around yet,"
Janette countered artfully. For such a young girl, not even ten, she seemed to
know exactly what to say to play her parents like a lute. "And besides,
she was sick yesterday. I don't want her getting tired."

"I think the cat can walk on her own,
pumpkin," her father said, trying a different tactic. "And it's
important for animals to exercise while they're getting well. It makes them
get well faster."

"Really?" she said. "Then I'll take her
out into the garden after breakfast."

"That may be a good idea," he said.

"Maybe it will run away," the mother murmured
under her breath to her husband.

"I think I'll call you Shadow, little kitty,"
the little girl said with a smile, handing him a piece of breakfast sausage.

"Don't get too attached to her, pumpkin," the
father warned. "I'll ask around and find out who owns her today. She may
be going home."

"Then I'll go visit her," she said
diffidently.

But the trip "home" never materialized that
day. It was spent with the little girl coddling him outrageously, walking with
him around the gardens, and inside it was a game with a little wooden doll tied
to a string. Despite having a human awareness, the Cat in him absolutely could
not resist attacking that little wooden doll, and Janette was inexhaustible in
her desire to drag it for him. They played like that for hours and hours,
until a call to dinner interrupted the game.

The humans ate as Tarrin laid sedately by the fireplace
in the main room. He was content. And he was content to stay where he was as
long as he could.

"What do you mean, you can't find
him!" the Keeper, Myriam Lar, raged to her Council. It was the day after
Tarrin's flight from the Tower. The Keeper had already made some very grim
plans for Jesmind, though from what she'd managed to piece together, it wasn't
really anyone's fault. Jesmind happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong
time. Even Tarrin's parents agreed that she had made no attempt to fight, only
to try to reason with Tarrin. "That weave was to hide him from his
enemies, not to hide him from us!"

But Tarrin's disappearance was of the most dreadful
concern. They needed him. Allia wouldn't be enough, they needed him.
And now he was out in the city, either trying to kill himself or trying to kill
everyone he could get his paws on. Either way, it was a dangerous and deadly
situation.

"The tracking weaves we spun into the amulet
aren't working, Keeper," Amelyn Storm, the Mind seat, said bluntly.
"We don't know why. We know they're still active, but we can't get a
direction out of them. As to the non-detection, that's working, and working
too well. It's blocking some of the indirect weaves we've been trying to use
to find him. We never expected to have to rely on them to find him," she
said quickly to head off the comment. "That's what the tracking weave was
for."

"Has anyone tried weaving a spell to find the
Adamantite that the amulet is made of?" Koran Dar, the Amazon Air seat,
offered in his quiet voice. Koran Dar was the youngest of them, but he was a
very wise man, and his voice was heeded when he bade to speak.

"I tried that," Darrian Goldaxe, the Dal
Earth seat, growled in his rocky voice. If anyone could find a metal, it was
Darrian, who was much like the earth, and the Earth-God for whom he was named.
He had a special affinity for metals, which was the main reason he sat on the
Earth Seat. "I think the Were-cat's magical nature is masking it."

"That's possible," Ahiriya grunted. She too
was named for a Goddess, the Goddess of Fire. It was amazing to the Keeper how
some parents just seemed to know what their children would be when they were
born...or maybe the children, with such important names, drifted towards the
significance of them. "That may also be why our finding weave isn't
working."

"Keeper," Amelyn said quietly, "we
should leave open the option of finishing him. If he goes on a rampage, he
could kill hundreds of people."

"Then let him," she growled. "He's too
important, Amelyn. That Death spell was only set in place should he fall into
the hands of the katzh-maedan. If he leaves the city, then we may have
to use it, but not until then."

"As you decide, Keeper, but keep in mind that he
may already be mad. And I can't undo his madness."

"I'm aware of the limitations, Amelyn,"
Myriam said. Because Tarrin wasn't human, it rendered him almost totally
immune from Mind weaves woven by those not of his race. It had to do with
thought; since he wasn't human, he didn't think in the same way that humans
did, and that made his mind closed to those weaves that the Mind affluents
used. But in this case, that was a liability. It removed the Tower's options
of simply controlling him through Sorcery, or curing or holding off his
incipient madness.

"With all due respect, Keeper," Jinna Brent,
the fox-faced Shacčan Water seat said in her accented voice, "but Tarrin,
he may not be the one, no? It could still be the Selani, or the Wikuni. Or
maybe one we have not found."

"I'm almost positive it's him," she said,
tired of this old argument. "What little information we have to go on
fits him almost perfectly."

"But he is too much trouble, no? Already he
causes us grief. Maybe another would do, yes? The woman Were-cat, she is
still here. It would not be hard."

"And are you going to volunteer?"
Myriam asked icily. It was answered with silence. "Tarrin had a very
strong mind, and it seems like it was too much for him. How powerful do you
think your will is, Jinna? Amelyn? Koran Dar? Nathander?" She crossed
her arms under her breasts. "You all know that the one has to be powerful
in Sorcery, and if it's not him, then it might have to be one of us."

"Better him than me," Darrian growled.

Myriam grunted. "Have the city guards
tripled," she said. "Have them look for him, and for any stray black
cats they find. He has to be hiding somewhere in the city, and we have to find
him before he either goes berzerk, kills himself, or tries to flee."

Tarrin was more or less adopted into the house of Tomas
the merchant, his wife Janine, and their daughter Janette, because Tomas the
merchant couldn't find the missing owner. There was also Nanna the maid,
Dernan the butler, and Deris the cook, and the uncountable ladies that made up
Janine's social circle.

It was a large house, with three stories and a
basement, filled with expensive furniture, silk buntings, and intricate
tapestries, and where Arakite rugs laid thickly on the floor. It was the
domain of Janine the wife, and she ran it like a little general. Everything
had a place, and it was kept in strict order. Even the dust was strictly
arranged by size and consistency before Nanna had a chance to come by and sweep
it up. At first, Janine the wife had no idea where Tarrin would fit into that
order. He was a cat, after all, and she had real fear for her expensive
tapestries and curtains. But Tarrin solved that problem by remaining as inobtrusive
to the suspicious woman as possible. He stayed almost exclusively with
Janette, and any time he and Janine the wife shared company, he was careful to
remain sedate and quiet. He did not claw the furniture or rip up the
tapestries. He did not soil the carpets, and he was the picture of gentility
when Janine the wife was entertaining her silk-clad lady friends, playing Tarok
or stones. Dernan the cook, Nanna the maid, and most of the ladies absolutely
adored Tarrin, and that seemed to grind Janine the wife's gears somewhat. The
one thing he absolutely would not do was so much as scratch Janette. Even in
his semi-aware state, he understood the calamity that would befall the little
girl, should he bite her. So in their long, endless games, he was very, very
careful not to even scratch her by accident. If she got too close in the game,
he would stop. He would not lick her, nor would he let her anywhere near him
either during or after his grooming of himself. He took no chance whatsoever
that even the most fleeting contact with his spittle would transform her. He
wouldn't put anyone else through the torment he'd suffered, the torment that
put him in the house in the first place.

The majority of his time was spent with Janette, his
little mother. Janette doted on him almost too much, and he was the central
aspect of her life since the moment she found him under the bush. He adored
his little mother with a passion, and was quite content to follow her around,
always being near her. When she was bathing, or eating, or doing her studies
with her mother, he was always close to her, usually laying by her feet
sleeping. Any time her lilac-scent faded from his awareness, he went to find
her. And once he knew where she was, he was content to let her be. Janette's
parents had taken notice of Tarrin's unusual behavior, but had passed it off as
a strange attachment stemming from her finding him and nursing him back to
health. But it was more than that. Janette helped keep the pain away, and in
her company he found love and acceptance.

There was very little concept of time in the Cat's
eternal now, but Tarrin seemed to sense somehow that a considerable number of
days had passed since she found him. He had that sensation because, over time,
his human awareness became more and more dominant, as if it was too strong for
the Cat to totally subjugate. The catlike instincts were slowly taking on a
human reasoning, and he started to become aware of things that had no meaning
for him earlier. Things changed around the house to help him respark the human
awareness, such as Janine's change of attitude towards him. At first, she
barely tolerated him. But as time went on, and he proved that he was no threat
to her decorations or her daughter, the woman fell into a gruff acceptance of
him. She paid him no attention, but neither did she pay him any mind.

It was after Janette's bedtime when Tarrin was laying
sedately by the fireplace. When he was not with his little mother, the
fireplace was his domain. He would go to bed with her and wait for her to go
to sleep, then he would lay by the fireplace until it fell to embers, when he
would go back up and sleep at the foot of her bed. There was almost always a
fire burning, even in the middle of summer, for light if nothing else, and its
dry heat was very pleasing to him. Janette had had to practice the flute
before bed, just one of many lessons she went through each day, as her mother
turned her into a "proper lady". In that respect, the little girl drove
her mother wild. Janette would have been much happier on a farm, because she
loved to be outside, loved to crawl through the grass and climb trees and catch
frogs. That was rather hard on the pretty silk and brocade dresses Janine the
wife had her wear, and it was always a point of contention between them.
Ladies did not do such things. What Janine the wife seemed to fail to
understand was that Janette was not a Lady. She was a child. And
crawling in the grass, climbing trees, and catching frogs were things that
children did.

Janine the wife was there, in her favorite chair,
reading from a thick book, as Tomas the merchant sat in his favorite chair next
to her. Janine the wife was a tall woman, thin and shapely, with a pretty face
and her brown hair done up on a bun most of the time, except when she was
entertaining, when it was let down in cascading waves. Tomas the merchant
wasn't at home very much during the day, off caring for his business. He was a
thin, tall man with lanky arms and a gentle face, his brown hair thick and
long, and done up in a single tail at the back of his neck. When he was home,
he was either working on his papers or spending time with his family. Tarrin
rather liked him, because he was a calm, unruffled sort of fellow with a very practical
mind.

"You look worried, my love," Janine the wife
said to him. The two of them seemed to be deeply in love. They certainly
carried on as if they were.

"The Star of Jerod still hasn't come
in," he said, biting his lip slightly. "It's three days
overdue."

"That's only three days," she said.

"I know, but Bascone usually isn't late."

"I thought Bascone was captain of the Wave
Sprite."

"He was," he said. "He took over the Star
two months ago."

"I'm sure he's alright. There's been some rough
weather south. He may have been delayed."

"I hope so," he said. "He was carrying
Arakite silk, and if I lose that cargo, we're going to take a serious
loss."

Tarrin looked into the fire, transfixed by the dancing
of the flames. Just as he looked away, the fire popped suddenly. The sound
startled him badly. Despite his time in the peace of the house, he still
reacted with the reflexes of a warrior. He jumped up and faced the fire,
hissing defensively, until he realized that it wasn't an attack. Then, feeling
a bit foolish, he laid back down. Tomas the merchant's chuckle didn't help his
pride much.

"He's a jittery thing," he remarked to his
wife.

"I think her last owner wasn't very nice to
her," Janine said grudgingly. "She follows Janette around like a
puppy. It's like she thinks she's the only good person in the world."

"He," he corrected.

"I thought it was a girl."

"No, it's a boy."

"Janette thinks it's a girl."

"I know. I don't have the heart to tell her any
differently." He shuffled a few more papers. "I hope Bascone puts
in tomorrow," he sighed. "My buyers for that silk are getting
impatient."

"Bascone's a dependable man," she assured
him. "If he's late, then he ran into trouble."

"I know, and that's what worries me," he
grunted.

"He's a good captain, dear," she said
calmly. "It'd take nothing short of the Gods themselves to sink Bascone's
ship."

"I can take the loss on the ship. It's that silk
I can't afford to lose." There was a shuffle of more papers. "Oh
well, I'll worry about it tomorrow," he sighed. "Shadow," he
called.

Tarrin turned his head and looked at him. "He's a
smart cat," he chuckled as he motioned to him. Tarrin got up and yawned,
then padded over to Tomas's chair, and jumped up into his lap. He settled down
as Tomas the merchant rubbed the back of his neck pleasingly.

"Not you too," Janine huffed. "Everyone
in this house is in love with that creature."

"I think you keep saying that just to be contrary,
dear," he accused. "You're just annoyed that our little girl
browbeat you into keeping him."

There was a long silence, then Janine the wife laughed
ruefully. "Maybe," she said. "Janette can be a terror when she
has her mind set on something."

"She's her mother's daughter," he said
fondly.

"Any word of who owns it?"

"None," he said. "I've asked all around
the neighborhood, but nobody owned him. Not around here, anyway. Looks like
we're stuck with him."

"I think that was a bit obvious," she said
dryly.

Tomas the merchant chuckled. Tarrin started purring as
Tomas's fingers found all the itches. "I don't mind him," Tomas the
merchant said.

"He doesn't like me," Janine the wife said
gruffly.

"Try being nice to him," Tomas the merchant
replied.

"I am," she said indignantly.

"You don't kick him, or beat him, or dunk him in
boiling water. Yes, you're so very nice to him," Tomas the merchant
said. Janine the wife laughed helplessly.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?" she
asked.

"I think I may send the Sprite out to look
for Bascone," he said soberly. "He's using the standard route, so if
he's in trouble, Pichet will be able to find him and help him."

"Is Pichet on the schedule?"

"Not right now," he said. "I can't buy
that wool shipment until the silk comes in, so Pichet's in port until Bascone
gets here. At least this way, Pichet and his sailors have something to
do."

Janine the wife chuckled. "They do get rowdy
after a few rides in port."

Tarrin tuned them out, putting his head down. Being a
cat gave him a great deal of time to think, and lately, his thoughts were
becoming more and more sober. He thought alot about what had happened, and his
current situation. More and more, he was starting to realize that being a cat
was all well and good, but his human awareness made going through the motions
day after day to get a bit old. And he'd been thinking of his family.

He missed them. Even with what happened, he loved his
family very much, and knowing that they were only across town made it even
worse. He knew they were worried about him, despite what happened, and that
added to his concern. Allia was probably a wreck by now. Without him, she had
nobody, and despite her strength, in this foreign land, a friend to talk to was
absolutely vital to her. He just hoped that she met his parents, and that his
parents and sister would somehow take his place in her life. Give her someone
to talk with. Dar was probably in the Initiate by now; he wasn't sure, because
time had a surreal quality to him, caught between his human awareness and the Cat's
eternal now as he was. Tarrin hoped that Sorcery was everything the young man
dreamed it would be. He had several real reasons to leave, to return to his
life and take up his responsibilities.

But the knowledge of what he had done, and his fear of
himself, kept him firmly in place. It was better for him to stay here, stay in
a place where there was no temptation, no danger. His little mother was the
sole reason he hadn't gone totally mad, and wasn't dead at that moment. If not
for her, he would be gone. And in her arms, he felt absolutely safe and
secure, and knew that nothing bad would befall him. He knew that that little
girl was the only thing standing between him and insanity, and he just didn't
feel he was ready to go on without her there to soothe his fears and make all
the pain melt away. He just wasn't ready to leave.

He wondered what happened to Jesmind. Without him
there, she had no reason to stay. And after so much time, if she hadn't found
him yet, she wasn't going to find him. He wondered if she was combing the
forests and plains around Suld in an attempt to track him down.

The next day taught him that someone was looking
for him. Nanna the maid answered the door, where a sober looking young man
wearing a coat and breeches of soft gray velvet stood. He was wearing a shaeram.
Tarrin hunkered down in the shadow of the hallstand as the man took off his
three-corner cap and greeted Nanna the maid politely. "Good morning to
you, madam," he said. "I was wondering if you could help me."

"What do you need, good sir?" she asked.

"The Tower is looking for something, madam,"
he said. "It's a black cat, just a bit larger than an average cat. He's
wearing a black collar. Have you seen such a cat?"

It hung there for several seconds. "Whatever is
the Tower doing looking for a cat?" Nanna the maid asked curiously.

"It belongs to the Wikuni Princess," he said
ruefully. "If it's not found, there's going to be some very strained
words passing over the Sea of Storms."

"Well, I'm sorry, good sir, but I've not seen this
cat you seek."

"Ah, well," he sighed. "Should you spot
him, there's quite a substantial reward for the one who brings him back. You
can bring him to the Tower gate, and the guard there will direct you."

"I'll keep that in mind, good sir," she
said. "I'm sorry, but I have work to do. Good day to you."

"A good day to you, madam," the man said,
dipping his cap to her again. Then Nanna the maid shut the door. She shook
her head, and then noticed Tarrin hunkered down under the hallstand. Nanna the
maid didn't miss much of anything. "The Royal cat, eh?" she
chuckled, beckoning to him. Tarrin approached her warily, an irrational
thought that she meant to carry him after the Sorcerer crossing his mind. But
she just cradled him in an arm, scratching him behind the ear. "Well, get
that out of your system, Shadow," she smiled. "I saw how you acted
when you got here. That royal brat was very mean to you, and I'll not give you
back to be tortured. Besides, Janette would be devastated."

And that was that. Nanna the maid never made mention
of the visit to the others, not even to Tomas the merchant, and it was simply
dropped.

But it was important to Tarrin, and he brooded over it
for several days after the visit. It was obvious that though he was done with
the Tower, the Tower was nowhere near done with him. It also told him that
they did want something from him, else they wouldn't be looking for him. And
it told him that they knew he was still inside the city, else they wouldn't
waste people's time by sending Sorcerers door to door looking for him. But, on
another note, he realized that they couldn't find him with Sorcery, else they'd
have been here the day after he fled. That was a very important bit of
information, something that he filed neatly away in his memory. But he was a
bit more careful after that, not going out into the areas of the garden that
were visible from the street, and not laying in the windowsills looking out as
he used to do.

But life inside did not change. He was still with his
little mother most of the time, content to just be near her when she was busy
with something else. And yet, as days passed, he found that his desire to be
with his little mother faded from fanatical, to important, to merely being his
wish. He was healing, he knew, coming to terms with the trauma that had put
him in Janette's arms in the first place, and he was relying less and less on
the little girl's calming love and affection.

It was probably then that he knew that, while he loved
this house dearly and everyone in it, that it would not make him content to
live out his life here. Eventually, he would leave, would have to leave, and
find a life for himself elsewhere. Janette would grow up, and her life would
become full with husband and children. And while he knew that, should he stay,
he would be a part of that life, it seemed wrong to him to take away something
from her just for his own selfish desires.

He knew it would be soon, but "soon" was a
very vague concept to one that had trouble marking the passage of time.

He laid and thought about his eventual departure often,
while Janette was busy with something else, but he had no idea how many days it
had been since he had made that decision. The eternal now of the cat prevented
him from simply counting the days, since the memories of the past days seemed
to blur into one another in a jumble that made it impossible to discern one day
from another. Janette's world was one of strictly regimented activity, for she
performed the same lessons almost every day, did the same things every day, and
there was nothing different from which Tarrin could refer to try to calculate
the amount of time that had passed. All he had to go on was the seasons, and
it was still hot outside during the day and warm in the night. It was still
summer.

It had been a day, like any other. Janette had spent
time with him between her lessons, playing with him, or taking a nap with him,
or just petting him, as she always did. After dinner, she was sent to bed, and
Tarrin stayed at the foot of her bed, as was his custom, until she was asleep.
Once she was asleep, he would go down to the fireplace and lay on the
hearthstones, soaking up the fire's warmth and listening to Tomas the merchant
and Janine the wife talk. He was on his way there when a sound from the
kitchen disturbed him. Thinking it was Deris the cook, Tarrin thought to beg a
treat from the portly, jovial man before moving into the living room. Deris
was a friendly man, and like the rest of the household, he rather liked
Tarrin. He gave Tarrin scraps and treats whenever he was cooking, so Tarrin
made a special point to be the man's friend.

But it was not Deris in the kitchen. It was empty, and
the sound he heard was someone using a thin probe to unset the latch on the
door. Tarrin's ears laid back as he realized it was an intruder, not Deris.
The door opened, and a thin man dressed in dark clothes, and carrying a knife
in his hand, stepped into the sacred confines of his little mother's house.
Tarrin came around the corner ears laid back, back up, and growled at the man
threateningly. He wouldn't get in without a fight.

The man took a step towards him, but he did not move.
It occurred to Tarrin that if they made a racket, Tomas the merchant would
investigate, and he would walk in unarmed against a man with a knife. His life
would be in very real danger. And since he had been in the form of the cat for
so long, simply changing form to deal with the bandit didn't occur to him;
changing form was something he didn't even think of anymore without working
himself up to it. Tarrin knew he was no match for a human, not as a cat, but
he absolutely could not let the man get by him. The life of his little mother
depended on it.

In desperation, Tarrin suddenly felt something drawing
in, filling him with a seething life that almost set his blood on fire. A
fuzzy image of fire came to him, fire roaring from the hands of a pretty
brown-haired girl, even as the world around him seemed to be overlaid with
impressions of glowing strings crisscrossing the room. The sensation of drawing
in moved those strings, causing them to draw towards him, until little pieces
of them flew out and entered him.

That image of fire seemed to weave itself from his
imagination and into reality. A red-hot tongue of flame lashed from him,
simply materializing in front of the defensive cat, and it roared at the man.
It washed over him, singing his hair and setting small licks of fire to his
clothes before flashing out of existence nearly as quickly as it appeared. The
man cried out and dropped the knife, staggering back towards the door. Angry
red welts were already forming on his face, and the skin on his hand had an
almost liquid consistency from its immersion in Tarrin's fire. "It's a
devil-cat!" he cried, then he turned and fled out the door.

Tarrin suddenly felt too weak to move. It was as if
all his strength was sucked out of him with that fire. He wilted to the floor
as a suddenly concerned Tomas charged around the corner, holding a rapier in
his hand. Tarrin was surprised that Tomas held it with a cool familiarity that
told him that the man knew how to use it.

"Shadow!" he called in sudden concern,
kneeling by the exhausted Tarrin and putting a gentle hand on his back.
"Are you hurt, boy?" he asked, his eyes staying on the door.

"The kitchen door is open," he said. "I
think someone tried to sneak in, but it looks like Shadow here startled
them."

Strong hands picked him up, and Janine cradled Tarrin
to her breast, her free hand checking him for injuries. Despite his
exhaustion, he meowed plaintively to her, and put his head against her
shoulder. "There's a knife on the floor," Janine said.

"I think Shadow attacked the man," Tomas the
merchant chuckled. "He must have been up on a counter, and leaped at him
when he came in. That's a good cat," he said with a laugh, petting him
gently.

"He knows who feeds him," Janine said with a
laugh.

Tomas looked out the door, then closed it, reset the
latch, and then locked it. Then he picked up the knife. "It's still
warm," he noticed. "I think I'll have a talk with Deris about
leaving the kitchen door unlocked when he's not in the room," Tomas the
merchant said.

"Be easy on him, Tomas," Janine the wife
said. "I'm certain that it was an accident. He's usually very
careful."

They took him back to the living room, where Tarrin
spent most of his night on Janine's lap. He was very frightened, frightened of
what had just happened, so he clung to the woman like a child clinging to its
mother. Janine, a bit startled that Tarrin would show her so much affection,
stroked and soothed him the way only a mother could, easing him from the
death-grip his claws had on her and coaxing him into simply laying on her lap.

He had used Sorcery. And just like his sister, it had
been raw, uncontrolled, an attack made in desperation. That changed
everything. It was the reason he had fled from Jesmind in the first place, and
he realized that, until he learned how to control it, that he would not be
safe, nor would others be safe around him. He could have easily set fire to
the house, or killed himself with his ignorance. He knew then that he had to
leave, and very soon. He had to go back to the Tower, go back to the only
place that could help him control his power, and he had to go before it
happened again. Next time, he may not be so lucky, and he knew it. He had to
accept his responsiblities, stop hiding from them.

It was time to grow up.

Tarrin had been solitary all the next day. It hurt
Janette a little bit, but Tomas the merchant and Janine the wife figured that
he was still a bit shook up over his encounter in the kitchen. What he was
doing was making a decision, one that didn't come lightly to him, and he needed
time by himself in order to reach it.

That night, after everyone was asleep, Tarrin padded up
into Janette's room. He looked at the darling little girl, all snug in her
covers and with a cute little expression on her face. How he was going to miss
her.

After a few moments of concentration, Tarrin changed
form.

The realignment of his thinking was quite profound.
After so much time in his cat form, with the cat in control, it was unusual to
have to think through the cat's distraction in order to form thoughts. The cat
accepted the reversal of roles graciously, returning to its place in the corner
of his mind. And when it returned, Tarrin bade it farewell as a brother, not
in relief that it was gone. The time in his cat form had allowed him to come
to a deeper understanding of his cat instincts, and though he still feared what
he may do someday when he was in a rage, at least he could face that future
with at least some hope that he could prevent anything as horrible as what he
nearly did to his mother from happening.

He knelt by her bed, putting a paw on her shoulder.
"Janette," he called softly. "Janette, wake up. I need to talk
to you."

The little girl opened her dark eyes. Though he was a
stranger, Janette did not scream or look up at him in fear. The light of the
moons and the Skybands filled her room with enough light for her to see his
face, and though he was unknown to her, his gentle way of waking her seemed to
allay any fear and replace it with curiosity. "Who are you?" she
asked.

"I'm your cat," he said with a smile.

"You are not," she said indignantly.

"Yes, little mother, I am," he told her,
cupping her cheek in his huge paw. "Well, I'm not really a cat.
Not just a cat. Here, let me show you." He stood up and stepped
back from her.

"You're not wearing any clothes," she
remarked.

"I know," he shrugged. "I don't have
any. Now watch." He changed form for her, and saw her eyes widen and
heard her gasp. Then he changed back, and returned to his spot beside her
bed. "See?"

"You're not a girl," she accused. Tarrin
marvelled at her innocent way, at how she could so easily accept what would
have been earth-shattering to an adult. Children were very adapatable.

Tarrin laughed. "No, I'm not a girl," he
agreed.

"If you're not a cat, why were you a cat? Why
stay here? Don't you have a home?"

"Well, it gets complicated, little mother,"
he smiled, stroking her hair. "You see, I was lost. I was lost, and very
frightened, and very sad, and I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid that I
didn't want to go on living. And then a little girl fished me out of a
bush," he said, tapping the end of her nose with his fingertip. "You
saved me, Janette. If you wouldn't have found, me, I would have died. Here,
with you, I found my way again, little mother." He cupped her cheek
again, his paw almost swallowing her face up. "I can't ever thank you
enough, Janette. You showed me how to live again."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You're going to
go away, aren't you?"

"Oh, pumpkin, I don't want to leave you," he
said, collecting her up into his arms. "I love you very much, Janette.
You're my very own little mother. But sometimes, we all have to do things that
we don't want to do. Like when you take your lessons with the flute. I know
you don't like it, but you have to do it." He looked into her eyes,
wiping away a tear. "I have things I have to do out there in the world,
little mother," he told her. "Just like your father, when he goes
out every day to mind his affairs. As much as I love you, and I love this
house, this isn't my place. I can't do what I need to do here. Can you
understand that?"

"I guess so," she sniffled, "but I don't
want you to go away."

"And I don't want to leave you," he said,
smoothing her hair. "You're very important to me, little mother."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Because that's how I think of you," he
smiled. "You are my very own little mother, there to make all the bad
things go away. You made me feel like I had a reason to keep living, pumpkin,
and because of you, I think I'm ready to go back to what I'm supposed to do.
And every time I feel lost or scared, all I'll have to do is think of you, and
it won't seem so bad." He sniffled. "I don't think you'll
understand how much you mean to me, Janette. I was so close to giving up. So
close that you'll never understand. And you brought me back. I want to thank
you for that, Janette."

He held her very close for quite a while. "I'm
sorry, pumpkin, but I have to go," he told her. "And for that, I'm
going to need your help."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You have to open the door for me, little
mother." He let go of her and changed form, then jumped up into her lap.
He nuzzled her as she picked him up, and he savored the scent of her, the feel
of her, as she carried him downstairs. She opened the door and set him down,
tears rolling down her cheeks. He changed form again and knelt by her, holding
her close one last time. "I'm going to miss you, little mother," he
told her. "I wish there was something I could give you to remember
me."

"I don't need something to remember you," she
sniffled. "I don't want you to go, but if you have to, you have to."

"I won't be gone forever, pumpkin," he told
her. "Someday, I'll come back. I won't be your cat, but I'll come back
and see you."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he said, tapping her on the nose.

She was clutching something in her hand, then thrust it
at him. "I won't need this with you gone. Maybe you'd like it. Just in
case."

He took the object. It was the little wooden doll,
tied to a string, the toy that they'd used to play with for hours on end, day
after day. His eyes filled with tears as he clutched the tiny doll. "Oh,
little mother, you still know just what to do to make me happy," he told
her, hugging her. "This little toy means quite a bit to me." He fashioned
the string into a loop, and then put the doll around his neck like a necklace.
"I'll be back as soon as I can. Until then, think well of me."

"I will," she said. Then she gave him a
look. "What is your name? I know it can't be Shadow."

"My name is Tarrin, little mother," he
smiled.

"Goodbye, Tarrin," she said, putting her
little arms around his neck. He held her close for a moment, and then let her
go.

"Goodbye, Janette," he returned. "Don't
forget to shut and lock the door," he warned. Then he let her go, and
turned away from her. He didn't want to look at her again, else they'd be
eating breakfast together. He changed form again, then slunk out of the
garden, wriggled through the fence, and then went off in search of the Tower.

It only took him about an hour to find the Tower. The
problem was getting in.

The guards were as thick as fleas on a dog. They
patrolled the fence in such tighly packed patrols that it would be absolutely
impossible to sneak in. He didn't want to just walk up to the front gate,
because he wasn't sure how they would react to him. They may have received
orders to kill him. He had no idea how long that he'd been gone, so he wasn't
sure if they thought he was a raving maniac. Not that he'd been too far from
it, but he didn't want to have to fight off a pack of guards just to prove that
he wasn't crazy. He'd sat there and watched until well after the sun came up,
looking for an opportunity to get in, but one never materialized.

He was laying under a wagon, pondering the situation,
then something quite suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He yowled
and tried to kick free, but that grip suddenly wrapped around his neck. If he
struggled too much, he'd break his own neck, so he went very still.

"I am very put out with you, cub,"
Jesmind's flat voice came to him, even as her smell, concealed by the miasma of
the city, reached his nose. She turned him around and gazed into his eyes.
Tarrin couldn't struggle, and with her paws on him like that, he couldn't even
change form. "If you had any idea what I've gone through to find
you," she grunted, then she sighed. "Ah well, that's water under the
bridge now."

He hissed threateningly at her, and her flat eyes
narrowed.

"Don't take that tone with me, cub," she said
ominously. "Or I may forget my promise to your mother and kill you here
and now."

"Promise?" he asked in the manner of the cat.

"I promised her I would bring you back alive, and
I'll do just that. Now shut up. I regret it enough as it is, but my word is
my word."

That revelation came on two fronts. One, that she had
went out to find him not to kill him, but to return him to his mother. The
other was that she had very strong prejudices against lying. When he
split from her, she accused him of breaking his word. Now he understood why it
made her so angry. It seemed to be a part of her elemental nature to accept a
promise as a sacred bond, and if it was broken, then it violated her to the
very core.

The ten men at the gate lined up to block her at first,
but a few deadly looks made them part like water before her. Five followed
her, at a discrete distance, as she made her way along the paved road that led
to the central Tower. She carried Tarrin like a purse, still throttled at the
neck, and Tarrin was pretty sure that it was because of him that they let her
inside the grounds. "I can walk," he told her.

"No, you can't," she said in a grim tone.
"If I let you go, you may take off again."

"I won't," he said. "You found me
because I was coming back."

"I'm not taking any chances," she said in a
cold tone.

She took him into the Tower, along the curved hallways,
up stairs, until she reached the antechamber to the Keeper's office. Duncan, the Sorcerer who acted as the Keeper's personal secretary and attendant, stood as
Jesmind barged into his office. In that large room, his desk was right by the
door leading to the Keeper's office, and three of the four walls were lined
with chairs and couches. He said not a word, just eyed the black cat in her
paw keenly, then simply stepped to the side and opened the door for her.

The Keeper was sitting behind her redwood desk,
scratching out a letter or some other correspondence, when Jesmind marched into
her private domain. The floor was covered with a single massive Arakite
carpet, and two ornate, deeply cushioned chairs stood in front of her desk. A
portrait of a vibrant brown-haired man in robes hung behind her on the wall,
the room's only wall decoration. The Keeper's gray eyes narrowed as she looked
up at the disturbance.

"I didn't think you'd have the nerve to face me,
Were-cat," she said in a steely voice, setting down her pen.

Jesmind raised her arm, the one holding Tarrin, and
then dropped him on her desk. "I said I'd bring him back alive. Here he
is. Now take your thrice-damned curse off of me."

"Tarrin?" the Keeper asked in surprise.

Tarrin changed form right on top of her desk, and then
he was kneeling on its wooden surface, staring down at the woman calmly.
"Keeper," he said formally. "Can I hit her now?"

The Keeper laughed. "I may let you," she
said. "Are you alright?"

"As well as can be expected," he said
calmly. "I, just needed time alone for a while. I'm ready to go
back."

"Good," she said. "Jesmind,
leave."

"Not until you take your spell off!" she
shouted. "I upheld my end of the bargain! Take it off now!"

"I can't do that," she said in an ominous
voice. "You're still a danger to Tarrin, and I won't allow you to hurt
him. Keeping you tame is in my best interest at the moment."

"You lied to me!" she screamed, her
claws extending as her eyes flared from within with that unholy greenish aura.

"Jesmind!" Tarrin barked, jumping off the
desk and putting a paw on her chest as the other took hold of her arm. In that
instant, Tarrin came to understand why Jesmind hated him so much. It was more
than a personal feeling between them. When he left her, she accused him of
lying to her, of breaking his word. That was so totally against the basic
nature of the Cat that it was her nature to take people at their word, and
expect them to live up to it. Lying was a violation of the natural order of
things, and that made any Were-cat angry. That, and there was her duty. She
had a duty to try to kill him, to stop him from doing what he very nearly did.
He could respect that, even more so now that he'd come so close to going mad.
He looked back at the Keeper. "You made a promise," he said grimly.
"Take the spell off of her."

"A promise is a promise," he said flatly.
"I didn't understand that before. I do now."

Jesmind gave him a strange look, and she put a paw on
his shoulder.

"You will take that spell off of her, and you will
do it right now, or else this room will need a lot of cleaning.
If you think either of us are nasty now, you should see what we can do when
we're working together."

"Then have someone bring them here," he said
in a dangerous tone. "Now." Duncan paused at the door.
"Now!"

"Duncan, go get the Council," the Keeper
commanded.

"Don't think this changes anything between
us," Jesmind said in a quiet voice.

"I don't expect it to," he replied. "I
have no real quarrel with you, Jesmind. You have one with me. I don't look at
you as an enemy, no matter how hard you try."

"Then come with me," she offered. "We
can let the past be the past. We can start over."

"I can't do that," he told her. "I came
back here for a reason, Jesmind. I can do Sorcery. I nearly killed myself
with it while I was away. If I don't learn how to control it, I'll either
accidentally kill you or end up killing myself. And the only place I can learn
is here."

"Why do you have to be so stubborn!" she
snapped, stamping her foot.

"Why do you have to be so contrary?" he
retorted. "I only need a couple of years, woman. That can't be much more
than a blink of your eyes."

"Then I guess we're back to where we started,
aren't we?" she hissed.

"I guess so. Jesmind."

"What?"

"Don't even think of stepping on my
tail."

She gave him a look, then laughed helplessly. "I
see you've gotten over your silly modesty."

"You bring out the worst in me," he replied
dryly.

"Yes," she said. "I imagine I do, at
that."

"Are you calm now?"

"I guess so."

He let go of her and stepped back. "You look
haggard."

"You're a damned hard man to find," she
grunted, stretching a bit. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in almost
a month. How's the arm?"

"Never better. You didn't rip enough out of
it."

"You wouldn't hold still."

"That was the idea."

She gave him a long look. "You've changed, cub.
A great deal. Was the time away good for you?"

"I managed to keep from going mad, if that's what
you mean," he said.

"That must be where you got the doll."

He fingered the little doll absently. "A
keepsake, from someone who helped me get through it," he said. Then he
put his paw over the little doll to totally smother Janette's scent. He hadn't
smelled any of it before, but he was going to take no chance that Jesmind would
track his little mother down and use her to draw him out. "And no, I
didn't kill anyone, before you ask."

"Small favors," she mused.

"I find all this rather entertaining," the
Keeper injected dryly, "but I have work to do. Could you take your
reunion outside?"

"No," they said in unison. "We don't
leave your sight until the spell is off Jesmind," Tarrin added.

"I'm afraid I can't trust you anymore,
Keeper," Jesmind said with hot eyes. "So we're going to keep an eye
on you until you uphold your end of the bargain." She crossed her arms
under her breasts, giving the diminutive woman an icy stare. "And I
expect you to live up to our previous bargain as well. I promised not to touch
Tarrin on the Tower grounds. And I'll uphold that. In return, I can come and
go as I please."

"You threaten to kill me, and then you make
demands of me, in my own office," the Keeper snorted. "You are
either insanely brave or monumentally stupid."

Jesmind was about to say something, but Tarrin put a
paw over her mouth. "Just let it drop," he told her.

"But--"

"Let it go," he said. She glared at him, but
his powerful gaze made her lower her eyes. Then he saw those eyes harden. She
was obviously flaring up at being stared down. "I'm not going to fight
with you, no matter how pecky you get," he warned. "So just put it away."

"Pecky?" she repeated hotly.
"You watch yourself, cub, or I'll tan your backside and shave your tail
with a board! You're not too old to spank!"

"You even try, and I'll strip you bare and hang
you out the Keeper's window like a flag," he retorted. "The whole
city will see you in all your glory."

Jesmind actually blushed. That was most
satisfying, with what she'd done to him in the past.

"Children!" the Keeper barked. "Can't
the two of you stay peaceful even for five minutes?"

"No," they said in unison.

She threw up her hands. "Goddess, deliver me from
this nightmare!" she cried out in a plaintive voice, then she sat back
down. "Tarrin, for my sanity, please take my spare robe down from
the peg behind the door and put it on. You're driving me crazy standing there
with no clothes on."

He nodded, pulling down the dark silk robe. It was
comically small, barely stretching around his chest, and not even reaching his
knees. Jesmind laughed when she saw it, and Tarrin sighed forlornly. The Keeper
motioned to him. "I'll fix that," she said. He came over to her,
and he felt that peculiar sensation of drawing in, then she put her
hands on the robe.

It quickly and silently grew out, falling to the floor
and fitting him loosely and comfortably. Its basic style even changed, going
from a feminine garment to a gender-neutral one.

"Neat trick," he noted.

"It makes fitting new clothes easy," she
shrugged. "It's one thing that we'll teach you here. Any Sorcerer that
can touch Earth can do that."

"Touch?"

"There are seven spheres of Sorcery, Tarrin,"
she said. "Since Sorcery is the magic of the world, they represent the
powers that make up and influence our world. Earth, Air, Fire, and Water,
which represent the physical world. Mind, Divine, and the sphere of
Confluence, or Energy, which represent the mystical aspects of the world. Some
Sorcerers have a particular affinity for one Sphere. Some can't touch a
particular Sphere at all. It's entirely personal. Most Sorcerers can touch
all six spheres, but they're not equally strong in them. Most that can't touch
all six can only touch four or five, but they're very powerful in at least one
of the spheres they can touch."

"I thought there were seven," he said.

"There are. The sphere of Confluence can't be
used by a single person. It's the sphere of Ritual Sorcery. It takes at least
two Sorcerers to use it."

Tarrin stepped back and watched the quiet happenings
curiously. There wasn't any senseless chatter. They didn't even stand in any
particular formation. But the sensation of drawing in was there, and it
was powerful. Tarrin seemed to sense that, as a group, they could wield more
raw power than the seven of them acting individually. As if the sum of their
parts was a greater whole.

That, Tarrin remembered, was what set Sorcerers apart
from all the other orders of magicians. Sorcerers could link together, forming
circles, and use their power in a combined effort. The Priests could mimic
some of that ability, but only where consecrating ground or curing curses was
concerned.

Jesmind's form seemed to waver for a moment, and then
she sighed explosively. "About time!" she growled. "Don't ever
do that me again!"

"Just leave, Jesmind," the Keeper said
stonily.

"Fine." She gave Tarrin a strange look.
"Until later."

"I'll be waiting."

"You do that," she said with a wink, then she
left the Keeper's office.

"He's very strong, isn't he?" a dark-haired
woman said, one of the members of the Council. "I could feel the edges of
him when we linked."

"He's used his power," a very tall
amber-haired man remarked. "He has the touch on him."

"Yes," the Keeper remarked. Tarrin felt very
uncomfortable with the seven of them staring at him. "For obvious
reasons, he just can't go back to the Novitiate. We need to give him the Test,
and place him in the Initiate."

"Tomorrow," Ahiriya agreed.

"Tarrin, go back to your room," the Keeper
commanded. "It's still the same one. Put your Novice uniform back on.
I'll send someone for my robe later. Oh, and do let Allia know you're back?
She's been about ready to kill since you left."

"I will," he said. "What about my
family?"

"I'll send word. They've bought a house out in
the city, and are living out there."

"Thank you," he said. He bowed sinuously,
then quickly evacuated the room. All those eyes on him was giving him a very
uneasy feeling.

It felt strange being back in his room. All of his
things were there, untouched, though he had no doubt that the Sorcerers
searched through it at least five times. He still had no idea how long he was
gone, but the memory of the room was still fresh, as if the suspension of time
had preserved all those memories.

He didn't even have time to open his chest and pull out
his clothes before the door banged open loudly. Allia, her lovely face
contorted in a mask of both rage and joy, stalked into the room. He didn't
even get a chance to greet her before she reared back and punched him dead in
the jaw. Tarrin staggered back, spitting out a tooth knocked loose by the
blow. He tried to get his hands up as she rushed at him, but found her
clutching to him tightly in a fierce embrace. "Don't you ever do
that again!" she commanded in a strangled voice.

"I missed you too," he said dryly, licking a
bit of blood off his lip. The tooth was growing back, which made the inside of
his mouth itch.

Things were different now. He and Allia talked at
length as they walked, keeping moving so the Keeper's eyes couldn't pin them
down, speaking in Selani to avoid their words reaching the Keeper's ears. He
told her about his time in the city, with Janette and her family, and he was
brutally honest about the sensations, the guilt, and then finally the tenuous
balance he had managed to achieve. He told her about things he wouldn't even
tell his mother, and she listened with that same gentle patience that so drew
him to her. He then told her about the episode with Jesmind, the spell, and
the look that the Council gave him after they were done.

"They want something from me," he said
bluntly. "I don't know what it is, but that's obvious now. They'd never
have put this much attention on any other novice, even one as strong in Sorcery
as they say I am."

"I know. After you left, they started paying me
that attention," she grunted. "They gave me the Test. Would you
believe that I can do Sorcery?"

"Really?" he asked in interest.

"I'm not that strong in it, but it is there,"
she affirmed. "They said that I couldn't make my life's work out of it,
as if I wanted to do that, but I think that knowing a few spells here and there
wouldn't be a bad idea."

"It could be handy," he agreed.

"They are keeping us together," she said.
"When you go into the Initiate, I'll go at the same time." She
scratched her cheek. "It's not like they're teaching me anything, or
anything. I'm basically just wasting time here."

They ended up in the courtyard in the center of the
hedge maze. This place of peace quickly soothed Tarrin's nerves, and he sat on
the bench and relaxed as Allia inspected the large wild roses that grew at the
back end of the courtyard. She tended them when they visited the courtyard,
trying to coax them into growing large, beautiful blossoms. Tarrin spent that
time staring at the statue, remembering those simple words that had drifted
into his mind the last time he was here.

Faith.

He believed that he had found some. By coming into
such close contact with the Cat, he had faith that it wasn't out to kill him.
Though they would struggle for dominance in his mind, he knew then that the Cat
was not his enemy. He knew that he had to be stronger than it was, to assert
his authority. As long as he could do that, then everything would be fine. He
had found faith in himself, a confidence that things just might turn out for
the best. Things didn't seem so gloomy.

It amazed him that he had always thought that way. To
him, before, each day was just one step closer to that ultimate end, either by
Jesmind's claws, or this mysterious enemy, the Cat, or even his own hand. But
now, now he felt that there was a chance that he just may come out of this alive.

He stood up and walked through the fountain, standing
at the base of the tall statue. He could never get tired of staring at that
lovely face, or those life-like eyes. "What are you doing, Tarrin?"
Allia asked.

"Just looking," he replied. "Me and this
statue are good friends. She's a good listener."

"And I'm not?" she asked impishly.

"When you're around, you are," he replied.

"Tarrin, look at this," Allia called.

Tarrin went up on his toes and leaned into the statue,
looking over its dainty shoulder. Allia had reached deeply into the wild,
tree-like rosebush she was working with, and as he watched, she carefully
pulled out a shaeram. It was very, very old, Tarrin could tell even
from that distance, made of silver, and with a small diamond set into the
center of the four-pointed star at the core of the symbol. "Its
ancient," Tarrin said, "but it's not rusted."

"But I'm not worthy of the honor," she
protested. "This symbol represents something I am not, and I won't
dishonor the katzh-dashi by pretending to be one of them."

"It's not the symbol of the katzh-dashi,"
Tarrin said. "It's the symbol of their Goddess. Since you can do
Sorcery, that gives you the right to wear it."

Where did that come from?

"Perhaps you're right," she mused, holding it
up to the fading afternoon light. She laid it over her head, then settled it
around her neck, carefully pulling her hair through the loop. "I hope the
Holy Mother Goddess takes no offense," she said as an afterthought.

"Why would she?" Tarrin challenged.

"It's the symbol of another Goddess."

"Are you going to start worshipping her?"

"No!"

"Then you have nothing to worry about,"
Tarrin shrugged, his voice dismissive in its practicality.

Allia looked up at the sky. "It's almost
dinnertime," she noted. "I'm hungry, too. Let's go."

"You go on ahead," he said. "I want to
stay a few more moments."

Allia gave him a deep look. "I'll see you in the
dinner hall then," she said. He watched her take her leave, and gave her
a few moments to get out of earshot.

He looked up at the statue's face, studying its serene,
perfect features, again marvelling at the hand that could, with hammer and
chisel, sculpt such incredible detail and beauty. He reached up and cupped
that face in his huge paw. "Sorry I was away for so long," he told
the statue, "but I wasn't myself for a while. But I'm better now. It
must be lonely in here alone all the time, so, to let you know, I'll be
visiting you again."

Believe.

Tarrin's ears perked up, responding to the voice
that had no sound, a choral voice that echoed soundlessly through the
courtyard, through his mind, dancing across his awareness like ripples on the
surface of a still pond. There it was again!

For there to be faith, you must believe.

"Believe in what?" he called curiously.

Believe in me.

That completely baffled him. "Believe in you?
Who are you?"

Believe in me.

The amulet around Tarrin's neck suddenly was very
heavy. It felt hot against his skin, then cold, then hot again.

The amulet, the symbol of the katzh-dashi.

The amulet, the symbol of the Goddess whom they
served. Just as the brand on his shoulder was the symbol of Fara-Nae

The Goddess.

Goddess!

Tarrin gasped in shock, staggering backwards, and then
fell into the pool. He sat up, water streaming off of his face, staring up at
the nude statue in utter shock. "Goddess!" he gasped.

There was the most unusual sound. It took him a moment
to realize that it was cascading, silvery-bell laughter. Oh, do get up,
the voice called in amusement. You look like a drowned rat.

"You, you, you," he stammered, totally at a
loss for words. He quickly rolled over and knelt in the water in front of the
statue, the idol-image of the Goddess of the Sorcerers.

Don't do that! the voice called tartly. I hate
it when people do that!

"Forgive me," he said in meek supplication.

And don't do that either! she snapped. You
talked to me normally before. You can do that again.

"I, I didn't know who you were, Goddess," he
explained.

It doesn't really matter who I am, the voice
called. I don't demand that people act like fools for my benefit. As long
as I know how you feel in your heart, I can do without all the bowing and
scraping and carrying on. Are you quite finished swimming in my fountain?

"Uh, yes, Goddess," he said, standing up and
keeping his eyes averted.

What's the matter now? she asked crisply.

"I don't know what to do," he said quietly.

Talk to me, she said winsomely. I didn't
drag you out here just to have you fawn on me. It doesn't become you.

"Drag me out?" he asked.

You think you wanted to come out here yourself?
she chuckled. I need to talk to you, my kitten. Away from the others.
There are some things you should know.

That got his attention quickly. "Like what?"

That's better. Talk to me as you talk to anyone
else. As far as answering questions, nothing that you want to hear, I assure
you, she said. For now, I wanted you to know that I exist. They'll
teach you all about me in the Initiate. To enter it, you have to swear an oath
of obediance to me. I know how your mind works. You'd reject such a vow
outright. He had to agree. His Cat nature would not allow him to
willingly subject himself to the will of another. What I want you to know
is that I don't want your obediance, kitten. I want your love.

"What?"

I want your love, she repeated. I don't
expect it overnight. You've never been what most would call religious, so the
concept of loving a deity is new to you. That works both ways, my kitten,
she said, her choral, powerful non-voice warm and intimate. I already adore
you.

What that means for the immediate future is this; I
won't demand you to uphold the vow that you'll speak to me tomorrow. I'm
giving you permission to lie. Just mouth the words to satisfy the Council, and
don't ever even think about it again. Oh, and don't think that this will be a
common occurence, she said, her voice amused. I do have other
things to do.

"You do this with all Sorcerers?"

To one degree or another, yes, she replied. I
don't directly speak to most of them, but I do listen, and I try to answer as
best I can. Just like Allia's Goddess, Fara-Nae, I'm very devoted to my
worshippers, so I can afford a bit of personal attention here and there. I
couldn't actively talk to you, like we are now, until you believed that I
existed. All I could manage were a few words here and there. Are you done asking
questions?

"No, but I think you're done answering
them."

She laughed, that same choral cascade of bells. You
are such a joy, my kitten, she told him. My life will be so much richer
with you in it. Just speak the words tomorrow, Tarrin. You don't have to
believe them, and know that, on my word and bond as a Goddess, I will not
demand you to uphold the vow you will give. I will ask it of you, but I
will not demand it of you.

"Why me?" he asked suddenly. "Why this
attention on me?"

Because you are very special, she replied
instantly. Very special indeed. In fact, at this very moment, half the
world's interest is set directly on your shoulders. Not all of that interest
is friendly...as you may have noticed. Don't even bother asking why, because I
can't tell you.

Just know this, my kitten, she said, her voice
sincere and loving. I am here for you. Believe in me, and I will provide
for you. Put your trust in me, and I will watch over you. Give your love to
me, and I will return it to you tenfold. Have faith in me, and you will never
be alone.

Those words struck him to the core.

I must go now, she called. Be well, my
kitten, and think about my words. I know that you know that I would not lie to
you. So think of what I have said, and make your decisions. I will welcome
you. The road ahead is long and dangerous, but with my love in your heart, you
will never be alone.

And then the sensation of her power faded,
leaving the courtyard dark and strangely empty. The dazzling sparkle in the
eyes of the statue seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but the dull stone
behind.

Chapter
10

Tarrin didn't sleep at all that night.

The words of this mysterious goddess of the Sorcerers
had struck a chord in him that went deeper than he ever thought. She had been
right; Tarrin had never been an overly pious person. The concept of actually
believing in the gods was quite new to him. Oh, he believed they existed, and
his family paid homage to several gods, but didn't actively worship any of
them. Now he suddenly had been exposed to the real power and presence
of a god, and it had shifted his theological positioning quite profoundly. Not
quite believe in her, but have faith in her.

And she talked just like a person. A real, non-divine
person. She seemed to have quite a sense of humor. He rather liked that.

He'd spent that first night back sitting on his bed,
watching Dar sleep, musing over his visitation, thinking of Janette, rubbing
the spot where Allia had popped him, and thinking about Jesmind's activities.
They had placed a spell on her to guarantee her cooperation. Tarrin could
understand that. But the way she looked at him when he'd sided with her
against the Keeper made him more than a little nervous. Tarrin's feelings over
Jesmind were never quite set in stone no matter what. One second he could miss
her, and the next want to wring her neck. She'd spent the entire two months
he'd been missing hunting for him. That surprised him. He'd have thought that
she would have given up after the first month.

And it was so strange being back in the Tower. Dar
had been very happy to see him, and they had spent the time between dinner and
lights out catching up. Dar had taken the Test, and showed potential. He was
starting the Initiate next month. Several novices they both knew had left the
Tower for various reasons, and there was a rumor that there was going to be a
Wikuni coming to the Tower and going through the Initiate. Dar himself was
ecstatic over passing the test and going on to the next phase of the Tower
training, for going back and being a spice merchant was the last thing on earth
he wanted to do. The rules of the Test forbade him from even telling Tarrin so
much as how long it took. If an Initiate passed information about the Test to
anyone, he was immediately expelled. Dar was set to enter the Initiate at the
beginning of the next week, which was only three days away. He had already
finished his Noviate studies, and was spending his last three days working in
the library with the Lorefinders.

As far as his first day back went, it was a
continuation of what had gone on before. The Novices avoided him, the
Sorcerers gawked at him and pestered him, and the Tower's servants and guards
gave him looks like he was going to sharpen his claws on the furniture. The
only real difference was that he really didn't care anymore. His time with his
little mother had brought to him a balance, and he realized that there was nothing
that he could do about the shortfallings of those around him. If they couldn't
trust him, or didn't like him simply because of what he was, that wasn't his
problem. He'd found his acceptance, with Allia and Dar, and with his family.
There was no more he needed.

His family. He was a little nervous about seeing
them, after what had happened, but he really didn't think that they would hold
it against him. By now, they obviously learned about his nature as a Were-cat,
and that was the only explanation that he could give to them. He felt that
they could accept it. But it didn't make the reality of what had happened any
easier to bear.

Dar yawned and rolled over. "Good morning,"
Tarrin told him calmly.

"You're up early," Dar said, rubbing his eyes
and sitting up in bed. "What time is it?"

"Sometime around dawn," he replied.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No," Tarrin relplied. "I'm too wound
up to sleep."

"You're going to be hurting around noon," he
said.

"No," Tarrin said. "I can sleep
whenever I want for as long as I want, but I can also stay up as long as I
want."

"Oh. I didn't know that," Dar said, putting
his feet on the floor.

"I didn't either until about a month ago,"
he told him, unfolding his legs out from under himself and standing up. He
stretched langorously, his paws brushing the ceiling, and he snapped his tail
to and fro to get the tingles out of it. "I'm going to have a busy day
today," he grunted. "They're giving me the Test, and my family is
coming in to see me. Two things to worry about."

Tarrin blinked. But then again, that was actually a
good idea. Nobody knew Tarrin better than Allia. She'd been the only one
he'd confide in over the months, and she knew how his mind worked. By talking
to Allia, his mother was reacquainting herself with her own son. Tarrin rubbed
his furred finger against his chin, thinking about it. That was a good sign,
that she was so intent on learning about Tarrin's changes. That told him that
she still cared, even after what had happened. Of course, he felt in his heart
that she would forgive him, but a little backing up with hard evidence didn't
hurt a bit.

He had changed quite a bit. And it went much deeper
than the fur on his arms and legs.

"Your sister has learned it too," he added.
"She can talk Selani just like Allia."

Now that was surprising. Jenna had a talent for
languages; she could speak the trade tongue that was the commonly recognized
language among the twelve kingdoms of the West, but she also knew High
Sulasian, the archaic language spoken by high court and by some villages in the
western areas, and she knew Dalasian, learning it from Karn the smith. That she
learned to speak fluent Selani in a bit under two months was amazing. It
reminded him how smart his sister was, much smarter than him.

"Allia is subverting my family," Tarrin said
with a laugh. "Next we'll all be wearing desert garb and running the dunes."

Dar stood up and started dressing, and that reminded
Tarrin to change out of his rumpled Novice clothes and put on some fresh ones.
He was supposed to wear his usual novice clothes, but they were expected to be
clean and very well groomed. The Test was as much ceremony and ritual as it
was an assessment of his sorcery. Tarrin would never really look very well
groomed, since his claws tended to shred pant legs and shirt sleeves. He found
the best shirt and pants he had, showing very little wear from the passage of
time and meeting up with the tips of his claws. The pants were always worse.
The claws on his feet didn't retract completely the way his finger claws did,
so they tended to snag on pant legs as he put them on, if he wasn't careful about
it.

He really wasn't sure what he felt about the Test,
even after thinking about it much of the night. He was a little nervous, but
that seemed to be normal. Fear of the unknown was a common trait in anybody.
He did feel alright with some parts of it, such as this vow he had to speak.
The Goddess in the statue had told him that he could speak the vow without
meaning it, just to humor the Council of Seven. Knowing that was coming was a
tremendous relief. It wouldn't bowl him over, and what was important, it
wouldn't present the Council with a bewildered, nervous poppinjay there for
them to take advantage of him. He had a bit of confidence in what was to come,
confident in the permissions given to him by the Goddess. Confident that he
didn't have to challenge his independent nature when he was required to speak
an oath that would put him into the service of another.

There was a knock at the door, and then it opened.
Sevren was standing there, in his plain brown robe and the wire-rimmed
spectacles he wore over his eyes. Sevren's scent was a bit nervous. Tarrin
trusted Sevren, at least as much as he trusted any of the katzh-dashi.
Sevren's interest in him had been a bit irritating at first, with all the
strange questions and weird requests, but Sevren was very sincere in his desire
to study Tarrin's Were condition, and Tarrin couldn't fault him for wanting to
learn. Over the course of these little interview sessions, Tarrin had grown
fond of the man. Sevren was a very easy-going individual, and for him to be
nervous, about anything, was very much out of character. "What's the
matter, Sevren?" Tarrin asked. Sevren didn't like to be called
"master" or "lord" when they were alone.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he waved off.
"They're waiting for you."

"Already? I haven't eaten yet."

"Time waits for nobody, young one," he
said. "Now hop."

"Yes, Sevren," he said, standing up and
stretching a bit, working the kinks out of his tail.

Severen led him to a chamber very high up in the main
Tower, a room so high that, if it had a window, one could probably see halfway
to Shacč. It took them nearly ten minutes to climb the stairs to get up that
high. Tarrin always wondered why so few of the Sorcerers weren't overweight.
After climbing up all those stairs, he knew exactly why. The Keeper's office
wasn't even that high up. And yet, if he kept his bearings, they weren't even
at the very top. The stairs still went up when the reached the proper floor.
The chamber itself was featureless, built of gray stone, perfectly circular,
and there was not a whit of furniture or carpet or decoration. Just a empty
room. The only thing in it other than living things was a glow-globe, high up
near the ceiling, a ceiling that had to be fifty spans high. Standing in the room
were the seven members of the Council. The only ones that Tarrin could
identify were Ahiriya and the Keeper, but all seven of them wore fine clothing
and tried to have a very regal, wise look about them. The way they looked at
him made him nervous.

"Very good. Thank you, Sevren," the Keeper
said. "You may go."

Sevren bowed and took his leave of them, shutting the
heavy, steel-reinforced door behind him.

"Stand in the center of the circle," the
Keeper said in a calm voice. Tarrin did as he was told, moving into the middle
of the room and standing in the middle of their loose formation. When the all
took steps backwards, up against the walls, Tarrin started to get worried.
They arranged themselves in a curious pattern where six of them stood at equal
distances to one another, as the Keeper stood a bit farther behind their circle
and between Ahiriya and a tall blond woman, as if she had no specific place in
their order. They raised their hands, almost in perfect unison, and Tarrin
felt that sensation of drawing in all around him. He was surrounded by
it. They remained perfectly still for several moments, and Tarrin could sense
something around them, around each of them. Each of them took on an aura, a
visible halo of light of the colors of the spectrum. Ahiriya was surrounded by
red, and the Keeper by green, and the others were surrounded by a distinct
color. Orange, yellow, blue, indigo, and violet. The lights were ghostly,
almost shimmering, as if his eyes had trouble focusing on them long enough, as
they tried to hide from his eyes. Along with the auras, Tarrin could hear
musical chords as if they were being played by phantom musicians, musical notes
of no specific timbre, as if sung by women with no voices. It was not a sound
he was hearing with his ears. Instead, it seemed to reverberate inside of him,
conducting against his soul directly.

"What do you see?" the Keeper asked in a
almost chanting, sing-song voice.

"Colors," he replied. "Each of you is
covered in colored light."

"Each of us?" a slender, black-haired
woman asked.

"Each of you," he affirmed.

"What color am I?" she asked.

"Light purple," he replied.

"Am I very bright?"

"Not any brighter than the others. Well, the
Keeper's standing a little farther back than the rest of you, but she looks
about the same," Tarrin replied, studying her and each of them in turn.

The woman's eyes seemed to widen. "What color is
the Keeper?" she asked.

That made the Keeper rock back on her heels.
"Are you certain?" she asked quickly.

"Positive," he replied. "Red. Green.
Blue. Yellow. Light purple. Darker purple. Orange," he recited,
pointing at each of them in the circle. Then he squinted, studying them.
"There's something connecting all of you together," he added as
little fuzzy strings started to appear before his eyes. "Little ghost
strings."

"And no one of us shines more brightly than the
others?" a large, dark-skinned man asked.

"No," he said, putting a finger to his chin
and studying each of them. "They all look the same to me."

"Even the Keeper?"

Tarrin looked at her. Now that they said something,
she did seem a bit more distinct than the others. The color surrounding
her wasn't quite as fuzzy, though she was no brighter than them. "She's
not any brighter, but she is a bit, umm, well, a bit crisper," he
struggled. "All of you are kind of fuzzy. She's not as fuzzy as everyone
else. Maybe it's because she's standing farther away, I don't know."

"Goddess," one of them whispered, low enough
so that only Tarrin would hear it.

The whispered word that escaped the Keeper's mouth
caught his attention much more. She said only one thing, something that made
no sense.

"Weavespinner!"

All the colors and the soundless chords suddenly
vanished, leaving Tarrin's eyes a little dazzled. He blinked them several
times and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. When he opened
them again, he found the seven staring at him like he was a live snake.
"The Test is concluded," the Keeper said in a voice that she was
obviously trying to control. "You will speak not a word of what happened
here this day, Tarrin. If you do, you will be punished in the most severe
manner imaginable. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Keeper," he said in a calm voice. He
already knew that speaking about the Test was forbidden.

"This day, you have demonstrated that you are one
of the children of the Goddess. You are katzh-dashi. As per our laws,
you will be taken into the Tower and given training in your gift. But before
you are given that instruction, you will swear an oath. On one knee."

"What?" he said in sudden heat, heat that
was totally feigned. He realized last night that if he didn't look surprised,
they'd wonder if someone had secretly prepared him for this. "I won't bow
my knee to anyone! Least of all you," he grated, giving the Keeper
an unholy, murderous look.

"You have no choice," the Keeper shot back
in a cold voice. "It is demanded of all who enter the Initiate. And we
make no exceptions, not even for you."

"I'm not subjecting myself to anyone,"
Tarrin retorted.

"Tarrin," she said in an exasperated voice,
"you're not doing anything that isn't demanded of everyone else. The Oath
is a way for us to be sure you'll complete your training, because not many will
break an oath without really thinking it over first."

"What is this oath?" he asked in a less
hostile voice.

"To obey the will of the Goddess so long as you
stay on the grounds, follow the commands of your instructors and superiors, and
do your very best in your learning. That's all."

Tarrin rose up to his full height, putting a finger to
his chin and pretending to consider her words. The nameless goddess was
right. They made sure the oath talked about him obeying the Goddess. Not the
Tower. That was just as she said it would be worded. Of course, what
the Keeper didn't say was that she would, at some time in the future
when he got rebellious, point out that as Keeper she spoke the will of the
Goddess. Neat little trap there. But Tarrin knew that if this goddess wanted
his obedience, she'd do the commanding herself.

"Only so long as I stay in the Initiate?" he
pressed.

"Only so long as you stay in the Initiate,"
she affirmed.

"And if I decide I don't want to be a
Sorcerer?"

"Then you go your own way," she shrugged.

Which means that I can un-enroll myself whenever I
feel like it, he thought with a calm look at her, trying to hide a grin.
"Alright, but if you trick me, I'll hand you your guts one handful at a
time," he said in a dangerous voice.

"I would expect no less," she said in a
slightly sickened voice. "Kneel."

He did so, reluctantly. "Do you swear that you
will obey the will of our Goddess, She Who Goes Unnamed, patroness of the katzh-dashi
and Goddess of the Weave?"

"I swear," he said after feigning a few
seconds of indecision.

"Do you swear to do your utmost to pass the
Initiate, to come to the end of the training and say that you gave it your all
in good faith?"

"I swear," he said immediately.

"Do you swear to obey the commands of your
instructors, and the laws of the Tower, so long you remain bound to the
order?"

"For so long as I remain in the Initiate, I so
swear," he said flatly, giving the Keeper a deadly look.

"That's not enough."

"That's all you'll get," he said with a
steely tone, standing up. Towering over the diminutive Keeper, he looked down
at her with a blunt expression of mule-headed stubbornness. "If I decide
to stay as a katzh-dashi, we'll have to renegotiate. Until then, take
what I've given you and be happy with it, because I won't go a step farther.
It's more than I'd have given anyone else," he told her adamantly.

"You push it," she said with hot eyes.

"You forget what you're dealing with," he
replied in a calm voice. "I'm not a human. My nature is contrary to
tying myself down in one place, and giving someone else control over me goes
against just about every instinct I have. Be lucky I went as far as I
did."

"I think you forget your place," the Keeper
said in her commanding tone.

"Then feel free to educate me," Tarrin said,
casually popping his claws and giving them a cursory glance, letting the Keeper
see just how long and sharp they were.

"Myriam," the dark-haired woman cut in.
"Myriam, you forget--"

"I forget nothing," she snorted.

"Tarrin is right," the woman pressed.
"If swearing oaths is against his nature, to force him into more than he
is willing to give may upset the balance of his mind. You don't want him
disappearing for three more months, do you?"

"No," she said.

"Take my word for it, Myriam," she said.
"If he didn't want to be here, he would never have returned. I think we
can trust him with what he has already given."

"Yes, yes, you are right," she said with a
contrite smile. "I forget that he returned on his own."

"I have one more thing," Tarrin said.

"What?"

"I want Dolanna to teach me."

"We've already arranged that," she said.
"Tarrin, no one person can teach you, but Dolanna will be involved in your
education. She will be one of your instructors."

"Why more than one?"

"Because different katzh-dashi are better
at different things," a tall, slender man wearing a blue robe said
calmly. "Each instructor teaches a student what he or she excels at, so
that the student is always trained by those who best know the subject at
hand."

That made sense, so Tarrin only nodded and took a less
hostile stance.

"You will have many teachers. Even some of us
will instruct you," the blond woman said.

"Now stop asking silly questions," the
Keeper grunted. "Go to your room and pack your things. The Mistress of
Novices will arrange your move to the Initiate rooms. The Master of Initiates
will be expecting you before noon."

"Yes, Keeper," Tarrin said quietly. He gave
them all a very curt, cursory bow, then padded out of the room.

"Defiant," Koran Dar, the tall, willowy
Amazon Seat of Divine Power, what some called the Seat of the Goddess, mused as
the door closed.

"As stubborn as a rock," Amelyn, the dark-haired
Seat of the Mind, grunted.

"But he is the one," Jinna, the blond
Water Seat said quietly.

"He is a Weavespinner," the Keeper said
almost reverently. "A Weavespinner!"

"Maybe there is hope for us after all,"
Darrian, the burly Earth Seat, said in his gravelly voice. "There's been
no record of a Weavespinner since the Ancients left us."

"Remember, that's not a requirement,"
Nathander, the Seat of Air, said in a calm voice. "The ancient writings
state that any of noble blood that is not human can do this task."

"He hardly looks noble," Ahiriya grunted.

"He's the son of a clan princess," the
Keeper told her. "A prince. That qualifies. The Selani is the daughter
of the chief, and her Royal Highness' pedigree leaves no question in the
matter."

"Be that as it may, since we don't absolutely need
him, we can always get rid of him if he gets out of control," Nathander
said in a brutal tone. "One of the other two will suffice."

"But they don't have his power," the Keeper
said. "That may be very important when the fur starts to fly."

"The dagger in your hand is better than the spear
flying towards your back," Nathander said in his detached tone. "I
don't relish the idea of taking a life needlessly, but we must always keep the
greater good in mind. If he gets out of control, we may have to put him down.
To protect the rest of us, if for any other reason. A madman with that
kind of power running around could shatter what it took us two thousand years
to build."

"I must agree," Amelyn said. "I can't
affect his mind with any of my weaves, Keeper. If he goes mad, there won't be
anything I can do to heal him."

"Then we'll have to be careful," she said,
looking at the door. "That boy is our best chance. We just have to keep
him sane long enough to do what he needs to do. After he's done, then we won't
need him anymore," she said in a grim tone of finality.

Tarrin walked with Allia from the main Tower and
towards the North Tower, the tower of Initiation. Both of them were packed,
wearing Novice white but carrying no Novice uniforms with them. They were
being led by a young Initiate wearing a red shirt. The fact that Allia was
with him told him something, that they wanted to keep them together. They'd
rushed her through two months of Novitiate in two days, then simply said she
passed and told her to pack this morning. Probably not moments after he walked
out of the Test himself. He wasn't sure what their game was, but he knew it
had something to do with him, maybe with Allia. They wanted something, and
they wanted Tarrin to give it to them. Or possibly both Tarrin and Allia,
judging by the way they were kept together.

But that wasn't something he didn't already know, and
it wasn't something that he was in a position to do anything about at the
moment. He had no idea why they wanted him, what they wanted, or
when they wanted it. He was totally in the dark, and without
information, he had no way to plan a way to get him out of or around whatever
this thing was that they wanted. The Goddess in the statue had said that, at
this moment, half of the world's attention was placed right on his shoulders.
No doubt this maneuvering in the Tower had something to do with the Goddess'
proclamation. They knew that he was important. That had to be key to the
reason that he was here.

The North tower, like all six of the surrounding
towers, was much smaller than the main tower. About half the height. Several
bridges ran from its red stone walls over to the main tower, some hundred spans
or more in distance, and Tarrin wondered how the plain stone spans, with no
support or bracing, managed to stay up. They didn't even have guardrails. The
bridges were not for Novices. Tarrin had never set foot on one of them
before. From what he knew of the Tower, most of the main tower was filled with
the library, rooms for the katzh-dashi, and it was where most of the
business of the order was conducted. The North Tower was for the Initiates and
their training, and the South Tower was mainly for research. It was where the
books not kept in the main library were stored, the books full of things that
were potentially dangerous to people who had no idea what they were doing.
Like nosy Novices. There was alot of traffic between the South Tower and the main spire, because many of the Sorcerers worked there to try to rediscover the
secrets that had disappeared with the Ancients.

From the inside, though, Tarrin couldn't really tell
the difference between the towers. They had the same gray stone walls, and
were lit with glowglobes hovering near the ceiling. The Initiate led them
through the main doors and down a corridor that led towards the center of the
tower, then down one of the curving inner ring hallways. He took them up a
flight of stairs, back into the intersecting hallway, and out to the outermost
ring, the room with windows facing outwards. That was where the office of Brel
was. A sign hung on a scrupulously scrubbed door with his name and his title.
The young man, a tall Draconian from the look of him, with long dark hair and
broad shoulders, knocked exactly three times and waited nervously. His two
charges made the young man decidedly nervous. "Enter!" a voice
called.

The young man opened the door. "Two new
Initiates, Master Brel," the young man said. "The Mistress of
Novices bid me bring them to you."

"Very good, Lem," he said in an irascable
tone. "I'm coming out."

"Yes, Master Brel," he said, closing the
door. "Nobody goes in there unless they're in trouble," he whispered
to them.

Tarrin rolled his eyes, and Allia chuckled a bit.

Brel came out with a slamming of the door, ignoring
the short bows given to him by the three in the hall. He was a small man, thin
and very short, looking about ten years past his grave. He was sallow and
emaciated, with thin little wisps of white hair clinging to a scalp pocked with
liver spots. His face was sunken and weathered, but his brown eyes were very
lucid and sharp. The man reminded him of Mother Wynn, the old woman he'd
encountered on the flight away from Jesmind and to the Tower. His scent was
sharp and acrid, and it was obvious from the smell of him that he didn't bathe
as often as he should have. He wore a stained gray robe that had a couple of
tears in it, belted at the waist. "First rule," he said in a
snappish tone. "Nobody goes in my office, unless I let them in. Is that
clear?"

"Yes, Master Brel," they said in unison.

"Thank you, Lem. You can return to your
duties." The young man bowed and scurried away. "You're here
because you've proven you can handle the power of Sorcery," he told them.
"Things work here much the same as they did in the Novitiate, except
you'll be spending alot more time in study and practice than you will doing
errands and working chores. Come with me."

They followed him back to the staircase, up two
floors, then back out to the outermost hallway that ringed the tower. "I
run a very tight tower," he said in a waspish tone. "If you thought
Mistress Elsa was bad, she's a kitten compared to me. I'm a firm believer that
punishment wears the nonsense out of someone." They stopped in front of a
door. "Each of you will have your own room," he said. "Two
rooms share a common storage closet. This will be your room, Tarrin," he
said, pointing at a door. Tarrin didn't even bother asking how he knew his
name. No doubt Master Brel had received a three page report on his two unusual
Initiates ten minutes after Tarrin walked out of the Keeper's office two days
ago. "Consider yourself lucky. Most new Initiates don't get a room with
a window."

"Is the room across from Tarrin's occupied?"
Allia asked in her strong, silky voice.

"No, and it's Master Brel," he said
sourly.

"Then I will take that one, Master Brel,"
she said.

He gave her a startled look. "By the Goddess, you
will not!" he gasped. "The very idea is insane!"

"Why is that, Master Brel?" she asked cooly.

"You're a girl!" he shot back.

"And why does that matter?"

"It's improper!" he snapped. "What's
to stop him from walking in on you undressed? And what's to stop him from
letting a boy into your room, if he doesn't go in himself?"

"How narrow," she said with a sigh.
"If I want a male, I will not ask Tarrin to smuggle him in. I will let
him in myself," she said bluntly. Brel stared at her with his eyes about
to jump out of his face. "I am not human, Master Brel. Do not assign
your human moralities to me." She crossed her arms under her breasts.
"As to him 'walking in', I assure you that there is nothing under my
clothes that he has not already seen. As to him being my lover, please, be
sensible. As much as I love him, it is as a sister loves a brother. I am not
in the habit of sleeping with my brothers."

Brel made a few strangling noises.

"Perhaps I should let a boy into the room of a
female roommate, should you not pair us together," she mused aloud.
"Maybe the experience would take the steel out of her back."

"Now see here!" he raged suddenly.
"I'll not have that kind of talk in my tower!"

"It's a losing cause, Brel," the Keeper's
voice called from the hallway. "Just give them the rooms they want and be
done with it. I assure you, nothing improper is going to happen between
them." Tarrin and Allia bowed to her as she approached, and Brel nodded
to her. "I have another Initiate for you. I need the largest room you
have available. One with a window."

"I take it the Wikuni has arrived, Keeper?"
he asked, regaining his composure.

She nodded. "Her convoy just arrived in the
harbor. She'll probably show up here tomorrow. It should take her that long
to decide what to wear," she grunted with a sigh.

"Wikuni?" Tarrin repeated. "A Wikuni
here, Keeper?"

"Not just any Wikuni," she said. "One
of their Princesses. We made a deal with the King to bring her here for
education."

"Pardon my saying so, but you don't sound very
enthusiastic."

She laughed ruefully. "I guess I'm not. This
Princess has a, reputation. I have no doubt she'll be as inconvenient as
possible."

"Ah," he said. "One of those."

She nodded. "I can feel the gray hairs coming already."

Tarrin chuckled. "Patience, Keeper," he
said with a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind. Go ahead and take care
of the young ones, Brel. I'll wait in your office."

"No, Keeper, I won't keep you waiting. Go make
yourselves at home," he told them. "Feel free to rearrange the
furniture if you feel like it, but keep everything clean. The kitchens are in
the main tower. I'm sure you already know where they are. Go get some
breakfast, and I'll have someone show you around after you get something to eat."

He gave Allia a short, hostile look, then walked away
with the Keeper by his side. "I have a room on the fifth level, Keeper,
one of the largest. It has a nice view of the gardens," he was saying as
they walked away.

Tarrin looked at Allia, and they both shrugged.
"Another?" Tarrin asked.

"If they're putting this Wikuni in the Initiate,
then she must be capable of doing Sorcery," she speculated.

"I was thinking the same thing. They're not
collecting Non-humans, they're collecting Non-humans that can do Sorcery."

"I think that's about right. Have you seen your
parents yet?" Allia asked as the glowglobe inside the room brightened in
response to the opening door.

"Not yet," he replied. The room was the
same size as the room that he and Dar had shared, but it was only for one
person. The room had a larger bed, with a large chest at the foot of it much
as his old room had been. The room had more furniture, though. A large
writing table was against the left wall with a chair resting in front of it,
and a bookcase stood beside a washstand on the right wall. A key, the key to
the room, was sitting on the top of the bookcase. There were two tables
flanking the bed, two small nightstands, one of which held a lantern, the other
a candle and candletray. Tarrin wondered what the lantern and candle was for
with the glowglobe hanging in the air. What amazed him most was the carpet on
the floor. It was a large carpet, dyed a solid blue with gold threading in
geometric patterns along the outside edge. From the feel of it under his toes,
it was old, but well maintained. The room had two windows as well, just on the
outsides of each nightstand, small windows that a child would have trouble
trying to squeeze through.

Compared to the Novice rooms, this was luxurious.

"I wonder if mine is this nice," Allia
mused. There was a door between the washstand and bookcase on the right wall,
the door leading to the central storeroom which this room and the next one over
shared.

Tarrin leaned his staff in the corner and set his two
packs down on top of the chest. "I'd hope so. Those windows may be a
problem."

"Why?"

"Jesmind."

"Ah. I'm sure that you can figure out a way to
defend them. And they let you out as easily as they let her
in."

"Can't argue with that," he agreed as they
opened the door to the storeroom.

It was large for a closet, with shelves lining the
walls between the two doors. Two large chests sat against each wall, each
chest flanked by two smaller ones, the same style and size chests as the one at
the foot of his bed. A pole ran under the high shelf on each side of the
closet, and several curious metal and wood hangars hung on them. Tarrin had
seen hangars before, but only in the inn back at Aldreth. They were a
relatively new innovation, from Shacč. They'd been making wardrobes with
hanging poles in them. They were primarily for dresses, to hang them to air
them out and keep them from wrinkling.

"They certainly give us plenty of room,"
Tarrin noticed.

"I guess they think that we'll be living here for
years," she replied as they opened the far door.

Allia's room looked so much like Tarrin's that he
wondered for a moment if they hadn't gotten switched around in the closet.
There was one difference, however. Allia's carpet was a darker shade of blue,
and had a solid brown border instead of a geometric pattern border. "I'd
say that it is," Tarrin noted calmly.

"Truly," she agreed. "It's quite
nice." She put her packs on the floor and sat down on the bed
tentatively, pressing down on it with her hands. "This one is almost as
soft as the sleeping pillows I have back home," she said. "And I'm
rather glad that I'll have you only a call away."

"It's going to be strange sleeping without Dar in
the room," he grunted.

"He should be in the Initiate by the end of the
month," she said. "You won't be separated long."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I've talked with him a few times since you
were gone," she told him. "Nothing long. Just seeing if he'd heard
anything about you."

Tarrin chuckled. "And you didn't kill him?"

"No," she said frostily, crossing her arms
and taking a very imperial pose. "I'm not quite as bloodthirsty as that,
thank you."

Tarrin laughed. "I think Dar appreciates your
restraint."

She gave him an unflattering look. "Let's go get
something to eat," she said. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," he agreed.

"I wonder when they'll give us the new
clothes," she mused as they went out her door.

They already knew how things worked for Initiates in
the main tower, from seeing them move around. Unlike Novices, who ate in the
hall at definite times, an Initiate was allowed to take whatever food they
wanted from the kitchen at any time, and they had their own special dining
room, or they could take their food and eat it anywhere they wanted. That was
because an Initiate's classes were not nearly as structured as a Novices, and
the Initiate may spend two weeks taking a class at dawn, then move to an
afternoon instruction, and so on. An Initiate's training was dependent more on
the availability of an instructor than anything else, so the Initiate had to be
able to receive instruction whenever it was available. Initiates also had more
freedom than Novices. Once they were raised to the Blue, they were allowed off
the Tower grounds, but had to remain within the city.

After invading the kitchens and fixing plates of
breakfast, they took them out to thedining room and enjoyed a quiet meal.
There were four other Initiates there, two wearing green, one red, and another
light purple. It looked like the one wearing purple wanted to challenge the
two, who were still wearing Novice white, about eating in the dining room
reserved for Initiates. But the young woman seemed a bit intimidated by the
two Non-humans.

"I wonder if they forgot about us," Tarrin chuckled
as they finished. "I mean, with this princess coming in, I think the
Keeper kind of messed up Master Brel's taking care of us."

"I don't really care if they remember or
not," she replied in Selani. "Just so long as they remember to give
us Initiate red."

"I guess so."

"I don't really mind it. It's refreshing not
having everyone stare at me and go out of their way."

"No doubt," he agreed. "Maybe this
Wikuni will give everyone something else to look at for a while."

"Why are you talking?" she challenged
with a grin. "You've only been back two days. I'm the one that had to
deal with it for two months."

"Who do you think was dealing with it before I
left?" he retorted.

"Point taken, deshida," she said with
a smile.

"I'm so glad, deshaida," he said in a
neutral tone.

After eating, they walked back over to the North Tower, then they went to their rooms and unpacked. There was more room than Tarrin
knew what to do with, but the fact that he wouldn't be keeping his Novice
clothing gave him even more room. The room was on the third floor, so Tarrin
spent some time looking out the windows, elbows on the windowsill. The room
faced out into the gardens, and the riot of color and the smells drifting in
from the window reminded him of the outside world, stirring the Cat inside him.

There was a knock at the door. "Yes?"
Tarrin called.

A young man in a yellow shirt entered, holding a
bundle of red shirts. "I was to drop these off to you," he said.
"And pick up your Novice white."

Tarrin gave him a curious look. His eyes were a bit
wild, and from the smell of him, he'd received a bit of a shock. "What's
the matter?" he asked as he motioned him to come in and grabbed the hem of
his shirt.

"That Selani," he said nervously, in a low
voice. "I dropped off her shirts, and she took off the one she was
wearing right in front of me!"

"She's like that," he chuckled, pulling off
his own and folding it quickly and neatly in his paws. "You get used to
it." He put on one of the new shirts, seeing that it fit well enough,
then handed the young dark-haired Initiate his stack of white shirts.

"Thank you," he said, taking them. "I
was supposed to tell you to be at Master Brel's office door at sunrise
tomorrow," he instructed. "He said that you have the rest of today
to settle in."

"Alright," he said. That was fine with him,
for he wanted to see his parents.

That took a while. The only one that knew where they
lived was the Keeper, and she was busy with the preparations to receive the
Wikuni. By lunchtime, he finally tracked her down in her office.
"Keeper, I have a favor to ask," he said as Duncan let him inside.

"Why bring it to me?" she asked. "I'm
busy."

"Nobody else knows where my parents live,"
he said.

"Oh, my," she groaned. "Tarrin, I am so
sorry. In all this chaos, I totally forgot to send that message. I meant to
do it yesterday, but I got word that the Wikuni was coming in not long after
you left my office."

"That's alright, Keeper," he said with
sincere compassion. "I knew you were busy, and I don't think they could
have seen me yesterday anyway."

"Yes, well, that doesn't excuse me," she
said in a stern tone, full of self-incrimination. "I'll send the message
right now. I'll have them come to your room."

Tarrin returned to his room to wait, and to dread and
think about their arriving. So much had happened over the two months, so much
time for them to think about the entire event. He honestly had no idea how
they reacted to it, or how the time to think about it may have changed that
original perception. His own memories of that fateful night were fuzzy, hazy,
indistinct. He only knew the generalities of it. But in a way, that was bad
enough. Knowing that he almost killed his own mother still sent a rush of hot
shame through him when he pondered it, but the time with Janette had managed to
partially heal that festering wound on his soul. All that he had left was to
find out what his parents and sister thought about him now. Whether they would
embrace him or spurn him. Either way, he felt that he could handle it. Losing
his family would destroy him, but he would face up to it like a man. Like a
Kael.

They arrived about two hours later, opening the door
to his room without knocking as he paced nervously. Elke Kael rushed in with a
cry and buried her son in a fierce hug, barely giving him time to turn around.
Tarrin struggled to breathe as his father and sister crowded in on him. Elke
then pushed him out at arm's length and gave him a dark scowl. "Don't
ever do that again!" she shouted at him, then hugged him again.

Tarrin felt relief beyond measure. That one line told
him that she wasn't holding a grudge. "I was afraid you'd be mad at
me," he said, returning her embrace.

"I am mad, but not for that reason,"
she huffed. "I'm mad at you for staying away so long."

"I needed time," he told her as he took his
father's hand, then hugged Jenna warmly.

"You don't look that bad," his father noted
with a smile. "Just a bit worried."

"You wait two hours and see how good you feel,"
he replied.

"And how do you feel?" Eron asked.

"I'll never be the same," he said with sober
eyes. "Never. But I guess it was something that had to happen."

Tarrin sat on the bed with Jenna in his lap. Elke sat
beside him, and Eron sat in the chair by the desk. "Where were you all
that time?" Jenna asked. "We looked and looked for you. The
Sorcerers even used magic to try to find you, but they couldn't."

"I, don't have much memory of it," he said
haltingly. "I lost so much time. In my other shape, time doesn't mean
the same thing as it does when I'm like this."

"But where did you go?" she pressed.

"I was picked up by a little girl," he told
her. "She adopted me as a pet."

Jenna giggled. "That must have been funny. I
don't think you'd make a very good pet."

"On the contrary," Eron said with keen
eyes. "I think I understand what he was saying. He probably had her very
nicely fooled."

Tarrin nodded. "I couldn't even remember how to
change shape," he told him. "I'd all but given up, and when I did
that, I let the Cat take control of me. You see, the Cat doesn't have much use
for human memories, so it simply buried them. And the Cat doesn't register the
passage of time. There's no past, no future, for a cat. There's only now.
And without memory of the past, or knowledge of the future, the now would be
everything. And in that now, there was only the Cat. If she hadn't found me
when she did, I'd probably still be wandering around as a cat, with no memory
of who or what I was." He bowed his head for a moment. "By now, I'd
be a cat."

"Two days would make that much difference?"
Elke asked.

"It wasn't the time," he told his mother.
"It was her. It was like being a child all over again, mother. She cared
for me. She honestly did her best to spoil me," he chuckled. "Since
I was more or less being coddled, and she wouldn't let me get depressed, I had
time to think about everything. Well, what was left of me had time to think.
She was so good to me that it made the Cat totally content, and the combination
let me find some measure of peace inside myself. I had no worries, no cares.
It was like a vacation from myself."

"I think I can understand that," Eron said.
"And after finding some peace, you started getting your human awareness
back."

Tarrin nodded. "It didn't happen very fast, but
it did happen," he said. "I still don't entirely trust myself, but
the time was good for me. I understand my instincts much better now that I've
lived with them controlling me for two months. I think that I'll never be able
to totally control them," he sighed, "because Jesmind seems to have
the same problem, and she was born with them. But there's hope."

Elke smiled and patted his shoulder. "I'm just
glad to see you well, Tarrin," she said to him with a warm look in her
eyes.

"I'm glad I wasn't disowned," he chuckled,
patting her hand warmly.

"Never that, son," Eron told him.
"Never that."

"Have you had any trouble, from Jesmind?" he
asked.

"No, we haven't seen her," he replied.

"Does she know where you live?"

"I doubt it," Elke told him. "The only
one who knows where we live are the Sorcerers, and I doubt they told her."

"She's sneaky, mother," he said. "She
can follow you easily."

"She'd have no reason to with you out in the
city," Eron pointed out. "Remember, you were the reason she
was here. Without you, her need to be here disappeared. Where is she
now?"

"I have no idea, but she's probably pretty
close," he said. "She knows I'm here. She's the one that found me,
sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I was trying to get back into the Tower without
being seen," he replied. "She caught me just outside the
fence."

"Is she still after you?"

Tarrin nodded. "I doubt I ever will get rid of
her," he said. "But that's a problem for another day." He
settled Jenna a bit on his lap. Despite the fact that she was nearly fourteen,
she fit onto his lap like a young child. "Tell me what's been going
on."

And so Tarrin was caught up with the goings on of the
Kael family. Jenna had been learning Sorcery from the Tower, as a Sorcerer
came out each day to their house to give her instruction. She found it to be
incredibly fascinating, and he had the feeling that Jenna had found her calling
in life. His father had started making arrows and bows again, doing his work
out of his new house in the city and having suitable materials brought in from
the forests. He made quite a bit of money. He was already looking to set up
his brewing equipment again, and having supplies brought in from Aldreth so he
could start brewing ale. His mother had found something close to happiness at
Suld, with a new home that was much larger, new friends, and a blossoming
business baking pies and pastries and selling them to an inn down the street
from her house. Tarrin's grandfather, Anrak Whiteaxe, had visited twice while
he was gone. Elke had chanced to see her father's ship in harbor, and managed
to track him down. Then he had visited again only last ten-day. He was very
happy about his little girl living in a port city, especially one that he
visited so often. They also told him about their visits to the Tower, trying
to get information, and about their taking in of Allia. Allia wasn't just
Tarrin's friend anymore, she was an adoptive daughter to the family. All of them
adored the dark-skinned Selani, and she seemed to genuinely be fond of her deshida's
kin. Jenna, who shared Tarrin's knack at learning new languages, had been
learning Selani from Allia. And surprisingly, Elke told him that Allia had
been picking up some Ungaardt from her.

Tarrin laughed as Eron described Anrak's reaction when
he met Allia. Anrak had been a bit intimidated by the Selani. "I'm not
surprised," he said. "Allia has that effect on people."

"Whatever happened to that young man you were rooming
with?" Elke asked.

"Dar? He's still in the Novitiate," he
replied. "He has only a couple of classes left, then he moves to the
Initiate." Tarrin had been glancing at Jenna, and saw her flush
slightly. By analyzing her scent, he noticed that the mention of his voice had
unsettled her somewhat. Then he chuckled. Her first object of affection.
"I'll be glad to have him close again. We're good friends, and I don't
think I've met a braver man. After all that happened around me, he stubbornly
stayed on as my roommate. Even when he was given the chance to move."

She slapped his knee, and he retaliated by ghosting
his tail over her face, making her sneeze. "I hate to cut things short,
Tarrin, but I have some errands to run," Elke told him apologetically.
"I don't want you to think I'm just showing up and leaving you."

"No, that's alright, mother," he said.
"I didn't expect you to be spending all day with me. But we do need to
take a walk through the garden before you leave."

She caught his serious look, then nodded. "Then
let's go take a walk."

Outside, they spent some time chatting idly, working
their way deeper and deeper into the garden. They meandered into an area where
there weren't any other garden visitors within earshot, and Tarrin looked
around quickly. "Jenna, I want you to do me a favor," he told his
sister.

"What?"

"Go over there for a while," he said,
pointing. "I need to talk to mother and father for a few minutes."

"What, you don't trust me?" she challenged.

"Jenna, as much as I love you, there's nothing
that you can do to help me with this," he told her. "Mother and
father can tell you when you get home, and we don't have much time, so I don't
want to have to explain things. They already know a bit about what we're going
to talk about."

"Go on, sweetie," Elke shooed her off.
"We won't be long."

"Alright," she sulked, stamping away in a
huff.

"What is it, son?" Eron asked.

"They want something from me, father," he
said.

"More than just teaching you?"

He nodded. "I can tell by looking at them. It's
in their scents. The problem is, I don't know what it is they want. I've
thought about it, and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it is."

"Are you so sure?" Elke asked.

"Mother, while I was, away, I found out that they
were sending Sorcerers door to door looking for me," he told her.

"I don't see anything wrong with that," she
said.

"Of course not. You're my mother," he told
her. "Think of it like this. The Tower would send Sorcerers to
hunt down a runaway Novice?"

"Tarrin, you said yourself that you weren't
rational," Eron said. "They could have been trying to find you
before you hurt someone."

"Father, my sense of time is very fuzzy, but I
know that the Sorcerer that showed up where I was hiding was there a long
time after I ran away from the Tower," he said. "It was well after
the wife--well, nevermind that. It was a long time. They had no business
looking for me door to door after that much time unless they were
desperate to find me."

"Tarrin dear, we were desperate to find
you," Elke said.

"Mother, you were. The Tower has
different reasons," he replied. "After that much time, they knew I
wasn't rampaging, else they'd have found me long before then. They knew I was
still alive too, else they wouldn't bother to look in the first place. And
despite me being gone for so long, they still kept looking. They even used
magic to force Jesmind to find me."

"I think I'm starting to understand," Eron
said. "By looking for him so hard, for so long, they tipped their
hand," he told his wife. "They had no reason to keep up the search
that long unless there was gain in it for them. The only gain that I can see
was that they find Tarrin."